For Love or Money: A laugh out loud, heartwarming romantic comedy

by Clodagh Murphy

  ‘No, it’s not that. I’m just surprised. I mean, you hardly even know me. You must have friends you’d rather ask.’ Lesley knew she should be pleased, but instead she was horrified. If Stella’s aim had been to make her feel like a prize snake, she couldn’t have done a better job.

  ‘That’s just it, I don’t. I haven’t really got any close friends.’ Stella gave a rueful smile. ‘God, that makes me sound like such a loser. But it’s just that I’ve moved around so much, and I’m not very good at keeping in touch. I’m a “live in the moment” kind of person, I guess.’

  ‘Love the ones you’re with,’ Lesley said, nodding.

  ‘Exactly. And now I’m with you.’

  Being a bridesmaid could provide all sorts of excuses to nose around in Stella’s life, and Lesley knew she should grab the opportunity with both hands. But she couldn’t help feeling sorry for Stella. She was starting to really like her and to see her as a friend. It made her feel like such a fraud. Still, it was what she was being paid for. This was a good development, and she owed it to Al to ignore her reservations and make the most of it.

  ‘Well, I’d be very happy to be your bridesmaid if you’re sure that’s what you want.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Stella beamed.

  ‘And as your bridesmaid, my first job will be organising your hen do,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about that.’ Stella shook her head. ‘I don’t need a hen party. I hadn’t even thought of bridesmaids until just now when Madame asked me what they’d be wearing. Besides, who would you invite? I don’t really know anyone in Ireland anymore.’

  ‘What about before you moved?’

  ‘Oh God, that was so long ago. Another lifetime.’

  ‘Well, maybe I could organise a reunion. If you give me the info, I could dig up people you used to work with, maybe some old school friends ...’

  Stella’s eyes widened. ‘I’m not a reunion sort of person. I don’t like looking back.’

  ‘Okay.’ Lesley decided it was best to back off. Stella looked quite panicked, and it was a long shot anyway. Then she had another idea. ‘It wouldn’t have to be only women,’ she said tentatively. ‘I mean it’s the twenty-first century. If you have any male friends you’d like me to invite …’

  Something flickered in Stella’s face, but it was gone before Lesley could make out what it was. ‘No,’ she said. ‘There’s no one.’

  She looked sad, and Lesley was struck by how lonely she must be. For whatever reason, she didn’t seem to have anyone in her life – at least, no one she would admit to.

  ‘Well, I don’t intend to fall down on the most sacred of bridesmaid duties. I’m throwing you a hen party, even if it’s just you and me.’

  ‘Just you and me, then.’ Stella raised her glass to Lesley.

  ‘We’ll have the fun of twenty women.’ Lesley knocked back the last of her champagne. ‘Now, let’s go back and buy that dress. By the way, what is your bridesmaid wearing?’

  ‘So, one day down and I’m Stella’s bestie,’ Lesley told Al later. They were lying side by side in bed, facing each other across the pillow barrier while she updated him on her progress.

  ‘Well done! That was quick work.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She was pleased that she had something to report. ‘I’m not getting a gold-digger vibe from her so far. Do you know she didn’t even ask Rafe how much he’d pay her to disappear?’

  ‘Impressive. But it could be just an act, to show him she’s not interested in the money. I mean, what if he was tricking her? She couldn’t risk showing her hand. There’d be no going back if she took him up on it.’

  ‘Or maybe she genuinely doesn’t care how much he’s offering because she’s holding out for the jackpot.’

  ‘Well, now that you’re BFFs, maybe she’ll show you her true colours,’ Al said on a yawn as he lay back.

  ‘Do you want the light out?’ Lesley asked. ‘I’m going to read for a while.’ She picked up her paperback from the nightstand.

  ‘No, that’s fine. How are you enjoying that book?’

  ‘It’s great! Things are really hotting up in the first form.’

  ‘Told you.’

  ‘I’m almost starting to want to go to boarding school myself.’

  ‘We could have a pillow fight if you like?’ Al said, grinning at her. ‘I wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘No thanks,’ Lesley said. ‘Though I wouldn’t mind tying the sheets together and abseiling out the window. That sounds like a laugh.’

  ‘Please don’t. I don’t want to spend tomorrow in A&E with you.’

  25

  The next day, Al took Lesley for a tour around Nice. First they walked up the hill to the Parc de la Colline du Château, a lush, shady park overlooking the city. It was a steep climb, but worth it for the spectacular views of the city and the Baie des Anges. Then they descended to the Old Town and spent the morning wandering through the narrow winding streets, overshadowed by tall sun-burnished apartment buildings painted in colourful shades of ochre, pink and burnt orange. Cascades of red and purple bougainvillea spilled from iron-railed balconies, and brightly painted shutters framed the windows. The tiny alleys opened out into wide squares drenched in sunlight and dotted with bustling pavement cafés, the tables shaded by colourful umbrellas.

  Al was an enthusiastic guide, pointing out interesting architectural features, quirky little shops, the best gelaterie (‘their lavender ice cream is to die for’), and favourite bistros and eateries (‘We have to come back here, the pizza is amazing’).

  ‘What do you think so far?’ he asked as they reached the Cours Saleya, with its famous flower and produce market.

  ‘Of Nice? I love it. It’s pretty as a Pixar.’

  The market was an explosion of colour and fragrance, delicious smells from the food stalls and cafés spilling out into the square and mingling with the heady scent of flowers. There were stalls selling everything from fresh fish and bottles of deep-green olive oil to jewel-coloured candied fruits and lavender-scented soaps.

  ‘Hungry?’ Al asked her. ‘This place has the best crepes in Nice,’ he said, leading her to a stall where a matronly woman was spreading batter on a wide rotating wheel. They ate a picnic lunch as they strolled around the market, grazing on savoury crepes and slices of pissaladière, and tasting samples of cheese and charcuterie. Al urged her to try socca, crisp chickpea pancakes cooked on huge circular pans, which tasted better than they sounded.

  Al chatted easily to the stall-holders in rapid French, and many of them greeted him like an old friend, with warm smiles and hearty handshakes. Lesley felt proud to be with him, even if it wasn’t real. Everyone seemed so glad to see him, and she liked how friendly and outgoing he was. As fake boyfriends went, she could do a lot worse.

  Even though Lesley was already stuffed, Al insisted she had to try the ‘best Nutella crepes in Nice’ for dessert. They sat at a small table at one of the cafés in the centre of the market and ate the most delicious crepes Lesley had ever tasted, with cups of strong black coffee.

  ‘Good?’ Al grinned across the table at her, licking chocolate off his lips.

  ‘Amazing,’ she said. ‘I just hope I can still fit into my bikini tomorrow.’

  ‘It still fits, then,’ Al said to her the next day as she pulled her sundress over her head and hung it on the hook under the parasol.

  ‘Just about.’ She tugged at the bra of her bikini self-consciously. Was it her imagination or was it already a little tighter than when she’d bought it? She was grateful that everyone else was too preoccupied with putting on sunscreen and settling themselves on sunbeds to pay attention to her.

  ‘Well, it looks great.’

  ‘Thanks.’ It had been a while since she’d worn a bikini, but she felt good in it. She was relieved that she wasn’t the only one wearing a bikini top. She’d been a bit nervous that toplessness would be the order of the day on the beach at Cannes. Not that she had any intention of stripping off, but she also didn’t w
ant to look like a fuddy-duddy. But she needn’t have worried. Stella was even wearing a one-piece, albeit a skimpy one with cut-out panels in the sides and a high cut that elongated her already endless legs.

  She pulled on her sunglasses and lay back on her sunlounger. This is the life, she thought. Going to the beach with the Bradshaws was an experience. They’d piled into two cars and driven to Cannes, then set up camp at an exclusive beach bar on the Croisette in front of a ritzy hotel. Luxurious sun beds with fat white mattresses were set in the white powdery sand, and smartly dressed waiters weaved between them, bearing trays of food and ice-cold drinks dripping with condensation. It was all a far cry from the picnic blankets, sandy sandwiches and lukewarm cans of lemonade of her childhood.

  The sun sparkled and danced on the water like thousands of fireflies, and blue and white umbrellas stretched along the sand in either direction. White-sailed yachts floated across the horizon, while closer to shore, paddle-boarders skimmed effortlessly along the surface of the water.

  The Bradshaws looked at home among the glamorous, moneyed crowd stretched out on the sand sunning themselves. Lesley wished she could put a photo on Instagram. She’d be the envy of social media if she could post about where she was right now. But as Al’s girlfriend she had to act cool and take it all in her stride. So she had to satisfy herself with texting Romy.

  She sent her a snap of the view from her sunlounger with the caption: Loving the new job so far.

  Romy replied: Well, I’ve just been to Lidl, so not jealous at all.

  Lesley laughed. I’ll be spending the day in a togs scenario with Rafe and Scott Bradshaw, she texted back. It’s a tough job, but it beats SEO.

  And Al, Romy replied. Don’t forget your boyfriend.

  Lesley texted back a heart emoji, then pulled on her shades and lay back on her sunlounger to furtively ogle Rafe in his swim shorts. From where she was sitting, he had all the qualifications necessary to play James Bond. Though her ‘boyfriend’ was no slouch either, she thought, glancing at Al beside her.

  ‘I think you’ve brought me here under false pretences, Lesley,’ Jane said on her other side.

  Lesley turned to her. She was looking straight ahead, her face almost completely obscured by dark sunglasses and a wide, floppy hat. Lesley followed her gaze to Stella and Peter walking hand in hand towards the sea.

  Rafe and Scott had wandered off together in search of jet skis, and Michael was fast asleep under his umbrella, a fat paperback open on his chest rising and falling gently with his breath. Joy was paddling at the water’s edge.

  ‘His girl’s tall with washboard abs,’ Jane intoned softly as Stella walked along the sand, her hips swaying, her long, sun-streaked hair lifting slightly in the gentle breeze. ‘I mean, how can I possibly compete with that?’

  She had a point. Stella could be a Bond girl with her flat stomach, perky fake boobs and long, toned legs.

  ‘I’ll be brutally honest with you,’ she said to Jane. ‘You’re not going to win the bikini round. I’ll tell you that flat out.’

  ‘Al, throw this one back.’ Jane leaned across Lesley to speak to him. ‘She’s cruel.’

  ‘Sorry, just telling it like it is. But you have to play to your strengths.’

  ‘Which are? Evening wear? General knowledge?’

  Lesley shook her head. ‘It’s only in stories that all the pretty girls are thick. Sorry.’

  ‘True. It’s a story the rest of us tell to comfort ourselves.’ Jane said. ‘Talent, then? I’m not a bad singer. And I can juggle a little. I had to learn it once for a part.’

  ‘Well ... maybe if we get desperate. But no, where you’re really going to come into your own is in the history section.’

  ‘History?’ Jane huffed a laugh. ‘Thanks very much.’

  ‘Think about it,’ Lesley said, sitting up and swinging around to face Jane as she warmed to her theme. ‘You and Peter had a whole life together. You’ve got children. Divorced or not, you’ll always be family. Stella’s known Peter for five minutes – a blip! You’ve had a quarter of a century together—’

  ‘More,’ Jane said quietly.

  ‘Well, there you go. There’s no way she can compete with that, no matter how good she looks in a swimsuit.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Jane said, her eyes drifting to Peter and Stella, paddling along the shoreline. ‘It’s true I used to know Peter inside out. Better than he knew himself – not that that was saying a lot. But the Peter I knew all those years was a drunk and a womaniser. He’s changed. Maybe Stella knows him better than I do now.’

  Perhaps she was right. Lesley was conflicted. Now that she’d befriended Stella, she didn’t feel good about plotting against her like this. On the other hand, if she and Peter would be as miserable together as Rafe seemed to think, wouldn’t she be doing her a favour in the long run?

  ‘He might be a bit more domesticated, but he’s still the same person,’ she said to Jane. ‘Back me up on this, Al.’

  ‘She’s right,’ Al said, sitting up and turning to them both.

  ‘And why should Stella swoop in and get the benefit after you put in all that work on him?’ Lesley continued. ‘If anyone’s entitled to the new, improved Peter, it’s you.’

  ‘Am I, though? It was my decision to get divorced. Maybe I should leave them to it.’

  ‘No.’ Al shook his head. ‘You said yourself Peter’s changed. You wouldn’t have kicked him out in the first place if he’d been even half as tame as he is now.’

  ‘Plus you’d be rescuing him from the clutches of a gold-digger, don’t forget,’ Lesley added. ‘Who knows what she has in store for him once she’s got a ring on her finger?’

  ‘I’m tempted to say it’d serve him right. He who lives by the sword ...’

  ‘But you don’t mean that,’ Al said.

  ‘No,’ Jane said wearily. ‘I don’t.’

  ‘So, history it is!’ Lesley said.

  Jane gave her a crooked smile, then lay back and picked up her book. But Lesley could tell she was still watching Stella and Peter over the top of it.

  26

  This was the easiest money she’d ever earned, Lesley thought, as she lazed in the sun, letting the heat seep into her bones. Suddenly she felt drops of cold water on her stomach, and she jerked upright to see Scott standing at the end of her lounger, shaking his head like a wet dog, sending a spray of water in every direction. Rafe was beside him, water glistening on his tanned, taut body.

  ‘We’ve got jet skis,’ Scott said, grabbing a towel and swiping randomly at his face and arms before tossing it onto a lounger. ‘We got one for you too,’ he said to Al. ‘So who’s in? Lesley?’

  Al looked at her questioningly. She shielded her eyes and looked out at the powerful machines zipping around on the horizon, bouncing on the waves. It did look exciting. ‘I’ve never been on a jet ski.’

  ‘It’s great fun,’ Al said. ‘You’ll love it.’

  ‘Okay, then. I’m game. Is it difficult to steer? Will I get thrown off?’

  ‘No. Just hold on tight to me,’ Al said. ‘You’ll be perfectly safe, I promise.’

  ‘Hey, why do you assume you’ll be driving?’

  Al shrugged. ‘You have to have a licence to do it here. Sorry, I just assumed you wouldn’t have one.’

  ‘Oh. Well, as it happens, you were right. I don’t.’

  ‘Anyone else?’ Scott asked. ‘There’s room for one more.’

  ‘Two more, surely?’ Jane said.

  Scott shook his head. ‘My boyfriend’s sharing mine.’

  ‘Boyfriend?’ Lesley frowned.

  Jane looked around. ‘Is Louis here?’

  ‘No, he met someone,’ Rafe said, rolling his eyes. ‘Someone new.’

  ‘What? When did this happen?’

  ‘Just now,’ Scott said to her. ‘In the line at the jet ski place. His name’s Leo. Or was it Larry?’ He frowned. ‘Anyway, I think I’m in love.’

  ‘Not wasting any time,’ Peter sai
d, grinning. ‘Good for you!’

  ‘How about you, Joy?’ Scott asked.

  Joy shook her head. ‘I think a pedalo is more my speed,’ she said with a wry smile.

  ‘Stella?’ Rafe called across to her. ‘Care to join me?’

  She looked up from rubbing sunscreen onto her legs. ‘Um ... I don’t think so,’ she said, glancing at Peter. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Go,’ Peter said to her. ‘You’ll enjoy it.’

  ‘Yes, please come,’ Lesley said. ‘I don’t want to be the only newbie.’

  Stella smiled uncertainly at Rafe. ‘Okay, then.’

  Peter watched Stella and Rafe as they walked away together, and felt a sudden sharp pang of longing – for quite what, he couldn’t say. For their youth, perhaps: their lithe, supple bodies; their energy and vitality? Or for that feeling of possibility that they seemed to exude – of life opening up and the potential for new beginnings? Maybe he was nostalgic for a time when there were still new experiences to be had, first times and fresh adventures ahead of him.

  As he watched, Rafe leaned in and said something in Stella’s ear, and she threw her head back, giving an open-throated laugh. He was struck by how young she looked. It was good to see her so happy and relaxed, and he was glad that Rafe was being nice to her. He’d worried that he’d give her a hard time. Watching them together, he wondered, not for the first time, if he was doing Stella a disservice by marrying her. If he was out of the picture ...

  If I was a jealous man, he thought ... and then he caught himself. He was a jealous man. He remembered the fierce burning pain he’d felt whenever Jane had flirted with another man. Just thinking about it conjured up a corrosive gnawing in his gut, like a visceral thing, as if it was happening right now.

  Why was that? Why could he watch Stella with Rafe now and not mind? Was it simply because he didn’t love her like he’d loved Jane? Or was it just one more thing age robbed you of? Everything else had slowed down and diminished. Perhaps feeling became muted too, and along with fading and failing senses, your heart lost the ability to burn and ache with want.