by Austin, Lucy
Back to the present day at the café, I say farewell to Stan and tell him to call me later when he gets his phone back. Shortly afterwards, a whole group of nursery mums descend on us, complete with high chair requests and nut allergy concerns – demands would normally incite an annoyed face from Paolo. This time however, he just plasters on this new smile of his and says ‘no problem’ to everything.
Hilarious Sam and I exchange a look as it’s borderline weird and we’re sort of missing the Paolo of old. Spurred on by this change in his mood though, I pluck up courage to partake in some good old-fashioned small talk with the mums without the usual fear of Paolo’s wrath, friendly banter that might possibly encourage them to come back. How good it feels to be myself without treading on eggshells. I’m happy to be doing this.
CHAPTER 26 - PAMPERING
‘So anyhow, Dan had been moaning about this workmate for ages. And it turns out it was Joe!’ I exclaim, doing a half-hearted lap of a tepid swimming pool that is full of too many budgie smugglers for my liking. I then proceed to fill her in on the events of the evening she was busy with the gas and air, not holding back any of the details back, knowing full well that we have the entire day at the spa to dissect it all.
Breaking her stride, Liv stands up and shakes the water from her ponytail, just looking at me in shock. ‘So you are seriously telling me that Joe looks exactly the same, ponytail ‘n’ all?’
I grin, treading water. ‘Yup,’ I say, swallowing some chlorine down the wrong way and violently coughing, disturbing the ‘serenity’ that this spa is renowned for.
‘Aren’t you lucky to finally get some sort of closure at last though,’ says Liv, her loud voice echoing across the pool, as we continue going slowly for fear of doing a full lap within seconds.
‘You’re totally right,’ I say and then attempt to do a bit of front crawl in a pool that is as long as it is wide. My head under the water, I kick my legs thinking about what I just said to Liv with such conviction. I absolutely mean it, one hundred percent. Being able to put this whole thing behind me is only possible now that I now know what to file it away under – in the ‘holiday romance that wasn’t all that’ category.
I join Liv on the curved sun loungers, noticing that her virgin white fluffy robe contrasts with the chewing gum white of my own that looks like it’s been hanging on the back of someone’s bedroom door for years. In preparation for our all-inclusive spa day at Heavenly Manor, I’ve had to go to Claire for some treatments – yes, the irony of going to a beauty salon before going to a spa is not lost on me. It’s like cleaning your house before the cleaner arrives.
I’d like to say that going to a spa is the perfect way to unwind, but here’s what no one tells you – spending all day trying to reserve the sun loungers makes it anything other than relaxing. The same etiquette applies as though we are in a hotel complex in Magaluf, namely don’t leave the lounger for more than five seconds or somebody will take it and avoid eye contact thereafter. Earlier, in a fit of annoyance, Liv announced that if that old lady so much as attempted to steal her lounger again, she was going to play the baby card and talk stitches. This is not so far removed from the truth as she winces every time she laughs and has bought with her a large bag of sea salt. Unfortunately, with memories of labour still raw, her tongue is so loose that the entire spa is a captive audience for her to re-hash a blow-by-blow account of her ordeal. It’s just as well I’m going to stay single for all eternity, because she sure as hell is not selling childbirth to me.
‘Remind me why we’re not at the pub?’ Liv asks, as we attempt to do that thing called relaxing.
‘‘Cause Dan only gave this auction prize to me on the condition I take you,’ I say. ‘Besides, Yvonne and Pete don’t want you drinking and fraternising with the unwashed locals at the pub love. They want you back to your beautiful self so you entice a good step-father for their grandchild.’ Liv laughs.
‘Anyhow, I can’t stop thinking about what you just told me. This is such big news about Joe. Big news!’ I take a sip from my ice-cold water and look over at the beautician handing out towels in her spa whites.
‘To be honest Liv, it’s been a bit of anti-climax really. I just don’t feel anything. Seriously, it was not what I was expecting.’
Liv lies back and shuts her eyes with a little smile. ‘Finally my friend, you have seen the light. He’s a douche-bag – a douche-bag with a Y.O.L.O tattoo. I’ve been meaning to ask for years – what does Y.O.L.O. stand for anyhow?’
‘You only live once.’ I say.
‘Jerk,’ comes the reply and we both burst out laughing.
‘I just wish I could have got to this point a little sooner,’ I moan, rubbing my eyes. ‘Talk about taking the long way round.’
Liv just shrugs. ‘Don’t we all, seriously. But isn’t that life for you?’’ she says, waving a glossy magazine in my face. ‘In fact, I read today that you have to live into the answers. These celebs are super wise!’
Now I’ve now worked out that this whole time I’ve been confusing the need to feel the way I did in Australia with holding a torch for Joe, I’m trying to work out where to go from here. It would seem I’ve got some serious ground to make up! I want to change things but with so many conflicting emotions going around my head, I’m already worrying that any choices I make from now might turn out to be the wrong ones. However, if my brother – the poster-boy for heartache abroad – can extract himself from that emotional setback to take on the world, maybe I can too. If he can be proud of his tour guide past and still ambitious for his future, maybe it’s my turn to do what makes me happy.
Having read some seriously compelling copy on Heavenly Manor’s website, my expectations for the venue were sky high, not helped by a home page that boasted of ‘the height of luxury that will leave you in awe’. Naturally, it means that every five minutes, I am spotting flaws as obvious as the cracks in the swimming pool’s ‘midnight blue sky’. We’ve already run out of things to do, as we’ve already walked around the man-made lake in twenty minutes, despite it looking like the size of Lake Windermere on the map. And what with Liv raving about how nice it was to enjoy a Jacuzzi again for hours on end, we’ve now exhausted that too.
A couple of hours later, we find ourselves lying in a darkened room on beauty couches, with a background noise of trickling water that sounds suspiciously like it’s coming from a CD. Whatever it is, it is working, as with my face encased in hardened gunk, my ability to talk has been severely restricted and I’m quite happy to listen to the sound. My contemplative mood contrasts with Liv who insists on chatting away, clearly delighted at spending the day with another adult.
‘What would you have done differently if you had your time again than?’ Liv asks.
I pat my face and attempt to move my lips. ‘Well I would have just said yes to things I liked doing, instead of just falling into things. And then getting too full of self pity to do anything about it.’ All of this, I manage to say with my jaw clamped down shut; it’s pretty impressive.
Liv yawns and I hear a cracking sound of the mask. ‘Katie Kate, I’m telling you right now,’ she says with urgency in her voice. ‘Just be aware of the freedom you still have.’
‘Yes, I think I know what you’re saying,’ I say, not really sure if I do, only for Liv to embellish further.
‘No, seriously Kate, try different paths even if you have no idea where they might lead ‘cause guess what? One day you’ll have bigger commitments and won’t be able to fuck up with the same wild abandon.’
Knowing this is a topical matter that could go either way, I’m now curious to ask the one question that has been on my mind since she found out she was pregnant. ‘You ever regret having gone down the motherhood route?’ I ask, just as the beautician comes back in, to talk to us about all the healing properties in our clay mask.
‘Not Rory, no!’ Liv says after the woman leaves, picking up from where we left off. ‘But I do regret having made a decision to get pregnant by
Mr Happy. I don’t know why I wasn’t prepared to wait to find someone more mature. I think I was seriously on the rebound from the man in Canada and got into a panic. If I had just calmed down a little, he would have been the transition guy, nothing more.’
In the face of such honesty, I don’t know quite what to say, which is perfect timing as the beautician has come back in and is taking the gunk off my face, one cotton bud at a time. She’s going so slowly, I’m at risk of visibly ageing before her eyes.
‘But here’s the thing,’ Liv says, and the beautician stops what she is doing. ‘I sort of like the fact I’ve made a commitment to something I can’t get out of.’
‘Funny you should say that,’ I say. ‘I think that’s been half my problem actually – too many choices so I end up doing nothing at all,’ I take a cucumber off one eye to eat it as that earnest lunch we ate has barely touched the sides.
‘Yeah, there is always that danger you end up driving with the brakes on,’ says Liv. ‘My theory is that you just find something you like enough and stick with it. You’ll more or less be in the right ballpark.’ Liv knows when to say all the right things. ‘Talking of which, you seem pretty happy at the café. Paolo and I think you’re good at the job.’
Unless you count a recruitment consultant telling me she liked my shoes, this is the first work-related compliment of late and it feels positively wonderful. ‘Mind you, Paolo is being suspiciously nice at the moment,’ Liv confesses. ‘Keeps smiling in a really creepy way. Hey, but whatever he’s doing, it seems to be paying off. Takings are up.’ Liv sits up and readjusts the towel on her head and swings herself round and into her fluffy slippers. ‘Anyhow, take his comments as a big compliment. As you know, he’s a major asshole most of the time. He does not say things unless he means them.’
She’s totally right, as getting positive comments by Paolo, is the equivalent of being knighted by the Queen. With the facial over, I pat my skin and it now feels plump and smooth – and so it should for nearly fifty quid.
‘And you know what else is crazy? I’m getting support from the most unlikely people,’ reveals Liv, opening up the door of the treatment room for me to go out in front of her. ‘Okay, you get these postnatal groups where I have nothing in common with them apart from having pushed a baby out, but then you get people like Claire who comes over with a present for Rory and it kind of restores your faith. I mean she actually leant me a romantic comedy to watch during the night feeds so I can combine romance with chapped nipples. How sweet is that?’
Hearing that Claire has finally forgiven Liv for shagging the ex-husband and that they are moving forward is good news. It certainly makes my life easier not to have to regularly fail as mediator. We are now winding down in the sauna, the last stop of the day, continuing our conversation under the hostile gaze of other spa dwellers.
‘And Paula – as in the worst mum on the planet – well, guess what?’ says Liv. ‘She’s been coming up to my flat offering me hand-me-downs and giving some advice I don’t want.’ Despite Paula’s numerous drawbacks, I’m glad Liv’s managing to humour her, as it’s the chance to start afresh and find some common ground. Like a good plasma telly, babies bring everyone together.
‘Oh and then we come onto Dan.’ Staring at the other people in here sitting silently in a row on a pine shelf like grumpy dolls while having their pores steamed, I perk up at the spontaneous mention of my brother. A casual mention from Liv is a very good sign indeed. ‘Well he’s the biggest surprise of them all. He’s been texting me to find out how I’m getting on.’
Now that relations are now thawing between the two of them, I take full advantage of the tiny PR opening that has just appeared out of nowhere.
‘Did I tell you what else I found in Dan’s flat that night after the play?’ Breathing in the humid air, my voice is now hoarse and my natural instinct is to open a window.
‘No?’ Liv replies, looking intrigued as she shifts about on the wooden slats that are clearly no substitute for her rubber cushion.
‘Well,’ I say and tell her about the subscription letter I saw to the introduction agency. ‘You know one of the ‘I want to get married’ ones,’ I add.
Finding that letter was not what I expected from my brother at all. I thought that he was just going to play the field until he was at least Hugh Hefner’s age and spend his twilight years wearing a smoking jacket, surrounded by a load of young women in thongs. As I relay my discovery to Liv, she is rather single-mindedly ladling on some more water on the rocks, creating what can only be described as an inferno that threatens to steam us all of us out of there. It’s too much. Needing some cold air to breathe in, I open the door and flee.
‘He’s still a major flirt though isn’t he?’ says Liv, rushing out after me. ‘I mean he’s even twinkling his eyes at little old baggy vagina me!’ We both laugh, prompting the old lady who had brazenly stolen Liv’s lounger once again to get up and move away in disgust. ‘Still, at least he’s trying to change,’ she concludes, easing herself down. ‘Changing is really hard.’ Don’t I just know it?
CHAPTER 27 - WHY NOT?
After an awkward half hour sitting there persevering with a sandwich bigger than his head, from behind the cake stand I spy Wayne lean over to give Claire a long kiss. This gesture surely proves that they are in the early throws of courtship – not that they are giving away much, mind, with Claire just saying he’s a ‘friend with potential’, which has to be one of the most pointless expressions ever invented. Wayne, clearly delighted that Claire is much nicer to him than she was at school is going with it. The long overdue romance is finally underway.
As I leave the cafe to have a change of scene for my lunch break, my phone vibrates with a text from Stan. ‘Good to see you the other day.’ God I miss those days when we weren’t just ‘doing’ friendship on screen and were reliant on picking up the phone. I could see clearly how relationships worked, as in if a friend liked you, they’d hang out with you at lunch, where as if boy liked you he asked you out. Nowadays, trigger-happy communication equates to fewer characters but so much stress. The amount of times I texted Joe when I was out in Sydney, only to text again to check he got previous message, then text again with something light-hearted to try and kid myself I wasn’t bothered about not getting another text back, then text one more time a few hours later to check we were indeed still good. I’d then look like a stalker when all I really I wanted was some straightforward behaviour. See what I mean? I read into text too much. I text Stan back; ‘U OK?’ to which I then get another text. ‘Am coming down later, will u be around?’
Later on that day, I’m halfway through the afternoon shift when my phone starts ringing a really annoying tune that tells me it’s my brother.
‘Dan, I can’t talk.’ I whisper into the phone, for fear of looking unprofessional.
‘Why? You having a coffee?’ comes the reply.
‘No I’m not you arse,’ I hiss, prompting a disapproving look off Paolo. ‘Remember, I work now.’
‘Only at the café, that doesn’t count. You need a two hour commute,’ says Dan and just as I’m about to bite his head off, I realise he’s winding me up. ‘Anyhow, dossing aside, need to tell you about Joe. I didn’t get to tell you at the party. Are you in later? I’ve got to come down anyway.’ I have no idea what Dan is talking about. What can be so interesting that I’ve not already uncovered?
‘It’s probably not the best night to come down,’ I say. ‘The café has started opening in the evenings and Sam has organised a cooking party which I know you will hate. And you won’t get a sofa bed until everyone has gone.’
‘A what party?’ Dan sounds bemused.
‘An Inspired Cook party! You know, when someone tries to sell you cookery equipment while cooking up a feast,’ I say crouching down onto the floor to hide from PJ who insists on playing Peek-a-boo while I’m on the phone.
Dan laughs. ‘You’re right. Sounds hideous. God, is this how you spend your days?’ I then look
up and there’s a customer with a bemused expression looking over the counter at me.
I may be imagining it, but Dan has never been bothered about making spontaneous visits before now, unless it’s a special occasion. He’s always made a point of saying how he hates coming down here now as all his friends have moved away. Call me intuitive, but I’m clearly not the main reason for the change in attitude. It’s the little things that are starting to give it away – the drunken babblings at the work party, arriving five hours later than he said because he had ‘dropped in on a friend’, the daily phone calls to me for no apparent reason, the spa break, oh and the rather big matter of putting his flat up for sale as he ‘wants to figure out’ his next move. Dan fancies the pants off Liv, plain and simple.
I give the customer a ‘one second’ gesture and stand up. ‘Listen, I have to go,’ I say to my brother and hang up. ‘Grande, Iced, Sugar-Free, Vanilla Latte With Soy Milk coming right up,’ I quip to the customer who’s just asked for a white instant coffee.
Paolo, with his new and improved attitude, has agreed to open up the café in the evening on the sole provision that he doesn’t have to stay and work. Being the fool I am, I’ve agreed to increase my hours, partly because I have little else going on my life right now, but mainly because on seeing the amount of evening bookings we are getting for the space, this might be the answer to all their problems. Not only is the extra money coming in now taking the pressure off the daytime takings, word is getting round. The Globe is becoming quite the destination. I’m no longer polishing the glassware trying to look busy, I’m generally swamped most days and can’t remember when I last found time to go to the loo.
What I hadn’t factored into my commitment to the Globe is that being nice to people all day is actually harder than it looks. By the time the evening shift starts, such is the shortness of my fuse, I get these overwhelming urges to pour drinks over people’s heads or shove cakes into their faces. Then somehow, I talk myself down and the rest of the evening goes by uneventfully.