by Jules Wake
If she wanted to drive, Jade would need her own car, as Angela’s automatic, with its specially adapted steering wheel, wouldn’t be suitable.
‘What time do you need to be at work?’ Carrie took a quick peek at the clock. ‘I can drop you off at the café when I go to Alan’s if you’d like.’
‘That would be ace, thanks. I need to be there for ten- thirty. Crikey Moses, I’d better do this and get ready.’
Carrie bit her tongue. She knew better than to query how long it took to get ready. Jade’s make-up, admittedly a work of art, took a minimum of an hour to achieve. Perhaps that was where Carrie had gone wrong in her younger days. She hadn’t cared enough about that sort of thing. Looks, appearance. There was never enough time to think about them. She was too busy living life. Teenagers these days had lots more opportunities and yet the boundaries of their lives were limited by their addiction to social media and what everyone else thought of them.
‘Right Mum. Sleezyjet. Luton to Nice. Piece of … cake. If we fly out on a Thursday evening its thirty-two quid. Come back on a Saturday night. Only twenty-four pounds.’
‘That sounds very cheap.’ Angela frowned.
‘Cos, no other bugger wants to fly then. Market forces. Supply and demand.’
‘Wow that Economics GSCE level is really paying off,’ said Carrie in mock admiration as she sauntered out of the kitchen. ‘Leave at ten-twenty.’
‘Sure.’ Jade was already busy tapping away at her laptop, Angela craning over her shoulder as Carrie went upstairs to take her shower.
With a quick review of her wardrobe, Carrie yanked out a pair of jeans and her favourite pair of Converse High Tops, covered in gold sequins. She’d bought them on a whim and she adored them, despite the comments both Angela and Alan had made. She didn’t care, they were utterly gorgeous. The fact that they were comfortable was a happy coincidence. If she and Alan were going into St Albans for the day to take a look around the Cathedral and the Roman Museum, comfort was the order of the day.
After her shower, Carrie gathered up her hair and with a ruthless tug secured it in a ponytail before wrapping it round several times into a messy bun that she skewered with a couple of decorative wooden chopsticks. She sometimes wondered if perhaps she should have it all cut off, it wasn’t as if she ever wore it down and it nearly reached her waist. She spent half of her life tidying it back into its bun. It was a constant battle, like trying to tame a small animal into submission and failing.
Grabbing her jacket, she called for Jade. ‘Are you ready?’
‘Nearly,’ came the expected response from Jade’s bedroom next door.
‘See you downstairs. I’m leaving in two minutes.’
‘Okay! I said I’d be ready!’
With a roll of her eyes, Carrie pounded down the stairs and went to retrieve her handbag from the kitchen.
Angela pored over the laptop with an unhappy frown.
‘What’s the matter? Are the flights too expensive? Did Jade get it wrong?’
‘No. They’re fine. We can get flights for around sixty-five pounds return, which is fantastic, if we fly at funny times but that’s okay. No, the problem is getting from the airport to the village. There’s no public transport – or none that connects. And a taxi from the airport would be rather expensive. I’ll have to ask Marguerite what she does.
‘Are you back tonight?’
‘No but I’ll be back early tomorrow. Marking and planning.’ She caught sight of the clock. Easy-going and laid-back in most things, Alan did have a bit of a thing about punctuality. Being late showed, he thought, a lack of respect for the other person.
‘Jade! I’m going.’
‘Alright, keep your hair on. I’m coming.’ Jade shouted back.
Angela and Carrie exchanged eye rolls. ‘Bye Angela, see you in the morning.
‘I’d forgotten how lovely it is here,’ said Alan as they strolled arm in arm around the nave of the ancient stone building. ‘No chance of bumping into any kids from school, either.’
‘Always a bonus,’ agreed Carrie with a sigh, drinking in the calm, quiet atmosphere. It seemed difficult to believe the cathedral was a step away from the busy high street.
Above them, the sun shone through the rose-stained glass window glistening with brilliant colour.
‘Now, do you fancy the guided tour? There’s a highlights tour in a few minutes.’
Carrie checked the time on her phone. They’d already been wandering around for an hour. How much more was there to see?
‘Why don’t you do the highlights tour and I’ll sit in one of the pews?’ She’d be quite content to gaze up at the window. ‘I can wait for you but I don’t think I’m up for a tour. My brain’s turned to mush.’
‘Why didn’t you say? Come on let’s go to the refectory. Tea and cake.’
‘No, Al. You stay. I don’t mind.’
‘No,’ he took her arm in a gentle but insistent grip. This was forceful Alan. Not exactly a force to be reckoned with, he did everything with calm understatement. ‘We can come back here any time. Besides cake solves everything.’
The Cathedral café, Abbots Kitchen, offered a very fine selection of cake.
‘Excellent. Coffee and walnut. Perfect. What do you fancy? I’m starving.’
She burst out laughing as the woman behind the counter served him a huge slab.
‘You’re always starving. It’s all the cycling.’ She gave him a quick, teasing glance. ‘You’ve been out this morning already, haven’t you? What are you like?’ He put her to shame, not that he ever bothered about her single-minded aversion to exercise.
He responded with an impish grin. ‘I’m making sure I’ll be in peak shape for the holiday.’
‘Rather you than me.’ Carrie shuddered. She couldn’t think of anything worse than a week toiling up and down the mountain roads of the Alps.
‘I’ve been thinking. You know we were talking about perhaps going to Cornwall or Wales later on in the holidays.’
‘Yes, I think I’d prefer Cornwall, bit more chance of sunshine.’ With the whole summer break in front of them, the holidays had seemed ages away and they hadn’t booked anywhere yet and now she had Angela’s offer to think about.
‘Well …’ Alan looked a little sheepish. ‘I was thinking … that maybe we should wait and save our money … go somewhere in the half term in October …’ A flush ran up his cheeks and the coffee cup in his hand shook, ‘… for maybe a honeymoon.’ He put the cup down in its saucer with a clatter and started fumbling in his pocket, tugging as the lining came out, ejecting a red velvet box onto the floor. It tumbled under the table, coming to rest beside her foot.
Biting back a smile, she bent to retrieve it.
Alan sighed and grinned. ‘I messed that one up, good and proper.’
Carrie laughed and handed it back to him. ‘Possibly not your finest hour. Do you want to start again?’
‘I’m not sure you’re going to have me, after that fine example of my total ineptitude in the romance department.’ He shook his head and pulled a self-deprecating face. ‘I had it all worked out. Planned. I was going to go down on one knee on the lawn outside, but there were too many people. I got nervous. So I decided I’d do it later … and then it came out. All wrong.’
He twisted the box in his hands as he spoke and then, with a start, glanced down, as if suddenly remembering what it was. Placing it on the table, he took her hand, serious now.
‘Carrie Hayes. Will you marry me?’
No fuss. No drama. Just Alan. Quiet, steadfast and true. She’d had drama and fuss and look how that had worked out. With Alan, she knew exactly where she was, while it might not be thrills and spills, his gentle love was like a warm hug. He would always be there for her.
‘Alan Lambert. Yes, I will.’
They stared at each other, smiling for a minute.
‘Oh, you need this.’ He opened the box and started to take out the ring and then half way through changed his mind. ‘H
ere, you’d better do it. I might drop it and then the damn thing will go flying across the room and get lost before you’ve ever seen it.’
Carrie took the open box and went to take the ring out.
‘Don’t worry if you don’t like it. I can take it back. If it’s not right. And say so, won’t you. If you don’t. Like it, that is.’
She leaned over the table and kissed him to shut him up. ‘Shh. It’s beautiful.’ And it was. A single solitaire diamond in an elegant raised setting. She handed it to him. ‘Go on.’
As he slipped it on to her finger with a shaking hand, a warm rush of love filled her heart. He was a good man. He’d look after her. Be a good partner. She’d never have to worry about him leaving her. ‘We’re engaged,’ she said with a giggle, suddenly giddy and light-hearted. It seemed rather staid and sober to be sitting there when they should be bouncing around with excitement.
‘We’ll need to talk about some of the practicalities,’ said Alan, taking her hand and tracing around the ring on her finger. ‘Like where we’re going to live. My flat’s a bit small …’
‘And bachelory,’ added Carrie with a smile.
His face fell. ‘It’s not that bad. I was going to say, I know it’s small but I think we should live there. Think how much money we could save, with you paying half the mortgage and the bills. I mean, we could carry on, but I think getting married makes a lot of financial sense. You know, pooling our resources. Later maybe, we could think about getting a bigger place. I’m loathe to throw my hat into the ring for the Head of Department job and have to suck up to Johnson.’
Alan was a brilliant teacher, but he had no ambition when it came to his career.
‘Actually, I’ve got some money set aside.’ Carrie wasn’t sure that she wanted to start married life in Alan’s flat. ‘When my parents died they left their house to me and Angela. She bought the house with her half of the money and my rent money covers the mortgage, but I still have my half of the proceeds.’
Alan sat up. ‘I’m marrying an heiress. Well that’s even better. I had no idea.’ His forehead wrinkled. ‘Hmm, well that will put us in a better position financially.’
The moment was in danger of going flat with this boring talk of jobs, mortgages and money.
‘Come on,’ she grabbed his hand.
‘But I haven’t finished my …’
She dragged him out of the café, pulling him along by his hand, bumping into chairs as they went. She wanted to run, jump up and down and get rid of some of the energy crackling through her before it burst out through her skin. Her arms prickled with it.
As soon as they emerged outside, Alan tugged back, slowing her to a halt.
‘Carrie!’ he said, smiling down into her face with a slightly reproachful shake of his head. ‘You’re crazy.’ He lifted her hand and kissed it.
‘Yes. Crazy. Alive. Happy.’ She grinned up at his familiar face, her cheeks stretched a tad wider than comfortable, ignoring a little voice telling her rather peevishly that she wasn’t as happy as last time.
Happiness last time had propelled her down Primrose Hill, running too fast and giggling so hard she could barely breathe, but it didn’t matter because there wasn’t room in her chest to take a breath with all the fireworks exploding and whooshing and crashing inside her. She’d thought she might explode from sheer joy, which only became giddier when they fell together, arms wrapped around each other, rolling down the hill. And when their pell-mell flight was halted by a hawthorn bush, with a bump that forced the air out of them, they stared at each other with the kind of hungry intensity that made you want to crawl inside the other person because you couldn’t get close enough.
Carrie ducked her head to look at the ring on her finger, fighting the sick thud in her stomach. She didn’t want to remember that. It was in the past. A different time. A different person. This was now. This was what she wanted.
CHAPTER FIVE
How the hell did you divorce someone when you had no idea how the hell to get hold of them in the first place?
Carrie pulled her laptop closer. Sitting in the kitchen felt a little precarious, Jade could get bored with her Netflix binge at any moment and appear behind her, but apart from the lounge, it was the only place you got a decent wi-fi signal.
According to the government website, you could have a DIY divorce for very little money, which sounded great until she started doing more digging. Initially she’d hoped she might get away without having to get a solicitor involved. It wasn’t as if she and Richard had anything to fight about. No shared belongings. No children. Not even a marital home. A solicitor wouldn’t be interested. Or maybe they would be if they thought major pound signs might be involved. She’d soon disabuse them of that thought.
Richard wasn’t likely to contest it, surely not after all this time. He was established, a big-time superstar.
Years ago she’d suggested a divorce. Richard said he didn’t want to. Neither did she, but with gritted teeth, she’d pointed out it was the practical, obvious thing to do because they hadn’t seen each other for eighteen months. The rush of relief, when he said he didn’t want to call time either, had only been eclipsed by her heart breaking into tiny pieces when he explained that it might hurt his chances of landing the next role.
Stupid idiot, she’d held that last-chance-saloon prayer that they’d work things out, but even though he’d smashed up all her hopes, having not worked in the theatre for eight months, she knew how precious every opportunity was. Who was she to deny him his big break?
She twisted a curl in her hand as she stared at the laptop screen. A divorce certainly wouldn’t hurt his career now. Getting a divorce was surprisingly straightforward providing you had an address.
She didn’t have a clue where Richard lived. It wasn’t exactly something you could look up on the internet. Google was amazing, but she didn’t think it was quite that amazing. Deciding to give it a go, she typed in Where does Richard Maddox live? What she loved about the great god of search engines, was that it never admitted it didn’t know anything. Wouldn’t it be great if occasionally a message would pop up, Google does not have a clue?
Article after article about Richard Maddox popped up, but not one of them handily said he lived at 3025 Pacific Beach Highway West, Malibu or 95a Beverley Hills Avenue, Hollywood, Ca.
The third from top mentioned that he was about to start filming a new film, Turn on the Stars, a romantic comedy, scheduled to go into production in the summer and to be filmed on the Cote D’Azur in France. Carrie winced. Where else but the Cote D’Azur? Although quite where it was in France, she was a bit hazy. Geography had never been her strong point.
‘Hey Carrie.’ Carrie jumped as Jade sauntered into the kitchen, working hard to resist the urge to slam the laptop closed. ‘You okay? Is there anything to eat? I reckon Mum’s hidden the rest of the chocolate biscuits.’ She crossed to the cupboard, peering into the empty biscuit box with an air of utter disbelief.
‘No, I’m pretty sure you ate them all.’
‘That’s ridiculous, I’ve only had a couple.’ Jade pulled a disconsolate face. ‘You don’t get many in a packet, do you?’
Possibly not when you munched two or three every time you passed the biscuit barrel. Carrie decided it was best not to voice that thought out loud.
‘Your film finished?’
‘No, got bored. It was lame. What you doing? Don’t tell me you’re still working?’ Jade squinted at the screen.
‘No, just surfing.’
‘Did Mum tell you about the holiday?’ Jade threw herself into the chair opposite.
‘No. We haven’t spoken about it.’ On the one hand free accommodation sounded wonderful for a whole summer holiday, but if something sounded too good to be true, it probably was.
‘Looks like it’s a no-go.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘We can’t get there, not without a flaming helicopter. It’s too complicated. No public transport, which means it must b
e some crappy, middle-of-nowhere place.’
‘How does Marguerite, the woman that owns the place, get there?’ asked Carrie, used to Jade’s dramatics.
‘Chauffeur-driven from the airport.’ Jade wrinkled her nose. ‘Alright for some, eh?’
‘Ah. And there’s no other way?’ Carrie was a great believer in where there was a will there was a way.
‘Feel free to try. I’ve been on the web for hours trying to work it out. Basically we’re stuffed. No cheap holiday on the Côte D’Azure.’ Jade’s downturned mouth almost formed a perfect semi-circle. ‘Mum’s found a,’ she did speech marks actions, “cottage”– polite speak for caravan without wheels, in the Forest of Dean.’
‘Côte D’Azur?’ Carrie straightened.
‘No, Forest of Dean.’ Jade glared at her in that full-frontal, pay-attention manner teenagers were so good at adopting.
‘No before that. Marguerite’s place. I thought it was somewhere on the French Riviera.’
‘Yeah, that too. Same place, two names. Why? Just ridiculous. Although makes no difference cos I’m never going to find out what it’s like.’ Jade slid lower down in her chair. ‘Would you bloody Adam and Eve it? First time in a gazillion, trillion years that there’s a chance of me actually going abroad. i.e. needing my passport. And it’s snatched away from me in the nick of bloody time.’
As Jade had been talking, Carrie had done another quick search.
‘Apparently, Riviera is the Anglicised version of Côte D’Azur.’
‘For all I care, it could be the Welsh, Scottish or Irish version. It’s no good to me.’
‘How many does this villa of the famous Marguerite sleep?’ asked Carrie, narrowing her eyes, a prick of excitement stirring.
‘Doesn’t matter as the Hayes family will NOT be going.’ Jade slid down her chair, arms folded, glaring across the table. ‘My life officially sucks. Charlotte is going to the Hamptons. Becky is going to Paris. Eliza is going to Canada. I, on the other, rubbish, hand am going to a pathetic caravan park, without Wi-Fi, in the middle of nowheresville.’