‘Not much cushioning in them, though,’ complains Patty of the moulded plastic seats much to our collective amusement. ‘Good job I brought my own.’
The teams run out on to the pitch and Patty takes out her binoculars. I’m sure what she’s doing could be classified as harassment.
I’ve watched cricket on TV with Michael, or rather I’ve sat in the same room while it’s been on. I know they throw the ball and hit it – a bit like rounders at school – then they run but sometimes they don’t and I think they only get so many throws each. On TV things are much closer and it’s easier to see what’s going on. If it weren’t for the cheers and groans of the crowd, I wouldn’t have a clue who is winning.
‘That one over there is my man of the match,’ declares Patty.
‘Why? What’s he done?’ I ask.
‘Oh, I have no idea but you should see his stubbly jawline. Here take a look.’
I might as well and yes, he’s a handsome chap. I decide to join Patty in checking them out.
‘Who’s the equivalent of Freddie Flinstone here?’ I ask the boys, as I recall the only cricket player I’ve heard of.
Jack bursts out laughing and Michael shakes his head.
‘It’s Freddie Flintoff. And it’s that guy there,’ he tells me, pointing him out.
‘He was very handsome,’ I tell Patty, ‘so big and muscular.’
She grabs the binoculars back and takes a look. The current Mr Flintoff is just as handsome. Patty nods and murmurs with approval.
A break is announced and the crowd starts shuffling about, heading to the bar.
‘Are we getting up?’ I ask Michael.
‘You sit here,’ says Jack. ‘We’ll get some drinks.’ He nods to Michael who gets up to follow him out.
‘Now those men know how to treat a lady,’ says Patty. ‘Get some snacks, too.’
There’s an announcement that play will resume in ten minutes and the guys still aren’t back.
‘I imagine the queues are pretty long,’ I say.
‘Well, here’s hoping they’ve bought two drinks then. The first won’t touch the sides,’ replies Patty.
Finally, I spot Michael but no Jack.
‘Patty,’ he says, ‘can you take a look at the screen up there.’
We look up at the screen that has been showing shots of the match and the crowd. Jack is up there.
‘What’s he doing up there?’ Patty asks.
‘We now have a special broadcast,’ the tannoy announces and everyone starts looking up at the screen.
‘Patty,’ starts Jack, ‘you are the loudest, funniest, naughtiest woman I have ever met. How on earth I fell in love with someone who dressed up as Cyndi Lauper for a living I will never know, but I did. I fell head over heels in love.’
There’s an ‘aah’ from the crowd.
‘Every day I spend with you I spend laughing and I want to laugh for the rest of my life. Patty my darling, will you marry me?’
The camera is obviously somewhere in the air as it pans on to Patty who has tears streaming down her face. She starts nodding frantically.
‘Yes, yes of course I will.’
The crowd erupts into a huge cheer and the camera pans up to a row behind Patty. Jack had been standing there all along and he’s now holding out a ring, which he puts on Patty’s finger. They kiss and Patty waves the ring at the camera. There’s a collective ‘Ooooh’ from the crowd this time. They sit down and a waiter appears with four glasses of champagne. We each take one and clink glasses. What a glorious afternoon.
And it just gets better. Our hotel for the night is a fabulously decadent place overlooking Hyde Park. We jump into a cab and head around Marble Arch to the grand entrance of the Mandarin Oriental. A doorman greets us and our luggage is taken from us as we stand marvelling at the sheer opulence of the atrium. I have stayed in many beautiful hotels over the years but this is really something special. Our suite is beautiful, too. A king-sized bed graces the elegant décor without dwarfing it; tasteful peony wallpaper that would only work in a room of this size reaches up to the mouldings, which in turn frame a glorious contemporary chandelier. A bottle of champagne sits chilling, so we forget about unpacking and take a seat absorbing the luxury and peace.
‘This is stunning,’ I tell Michael. ‘What made you choose it?’
‘I’ve a confession,’ he replies. ‘I could have chosen somewhere closer to the cricket ground or the river but I just love the gardens in Hyde Park and thought we might get the chance to take a stroll.’
I shake my head, smiling – this is so typically Michael.
‘So do you fancy a stroll before dinner?’ he pleads.
‘Nah, not really,’ I reply, then prod him as his face drops. ‘Only kidding, come on then.’
The colours are glorious and I wonder what Charlie is doing right now and whether he’s forgiven me. I must stop thinking about it and just enjoy the moment. I link arms with Michael as we walk through the gardens and I imagine myself in an elegant costume drama. I look up at my Mr Darcy and smile. He suddenly yanks me to one side. ‘Watch it,’ he yells pointing at the ground.
I look down and see a horrible brown slug, which would have been a brown smudge if my wedges had landed on it.
‘Arion vulgaris,’ says Michael.
‘What?’
‘The slug, it’s an Arion vulgaris,’ he repeats and then points at a shiny black one, ‘and that’s an Arion circumscriptus.’
OK, so he loves his gardens but this isn’t the romantic stroll I was expecting.
‘Some men would be telling me the names of the flowers not the slugs,’ I say.
‘I could do that, too, if you like. That one over there – it’s an Agapanthus “Black Pantha”.’
So much for Mr Darcy. ‘Not quite what I was hoping for,’ I say. ‘Aren’t they called things like Wonderful Lady? You know something that might sound vaguely romantic.’
‘OK miss needy,’ laughs Michael, ‘that rose at the back – it’s a “Carefree Beauty”, which is how you look now you’ve relaxed a little.’
‘Is it really called that?’ I ask, snuggling in a little closer.
‘Honestly? I have no idea but it does the job doesn’t it.’
I give him a little punch.
‘OK, we’ll stick with slug spotting you crazy romantic fool.’
‘Extra points if you see a Limacus flavus,’ he smiles.
It’s a tough life, all this strolling around beautiful parks in the late summer sun, and I’m soon ready to avail myself of the luxurious bathtub and the exotic smellies provided. Michael leaves me to it, opting to sit in our lounge reading the news from a real paper. That seems as much an old-fashioned luxury as the linen napkins or cups and saucers. He picks up a broadsheet and the simple rustle of the pages transports me back in time to a slower pace of life when you couldn’t just right-swipe through the headlines. Although it’s a long time since I ever bought a newspaper, it used to be one of the simplest of pleasures. I remember the weighty tome of the Sunday papers and dividing out the supplements. Zoe would take the book reviews first while I always read the travel section. We’d be listening to the radio, enjoying pots of coffee, sometimes with a croissant, and we’d take hours over this. A full morning taking in the news and views of the world, does anyone take an hour perusing a tablet or phone? I doubt it.
I fill the tub and pour in the entire bottle of bubble bath. I want the sort of soak you see in films where the heroine’s modesty is entirely protected by a foamy barricade. Should Michael walk in, he’ll see a playful bathing beauty not a middle-aged woman tackling the forest on her legs with a disposable Bic. That’s if he can see anything through all this steam, which is another tactic, as I figure it’s the equivalent of a soft focus filter. When everything is just as it should be, I take my glass of the champagne and step into the tub carefully. I lower myself into the water and as I do so, each vertebra of my spine relaxes with the heat. Bliss.
I think b
ack through this evening’s stroll and smile to myself. In his own way, he’s as nutty as everyone else I know. Given my collection of friends and relatives, is it any wonder I get the guy who thinks slug-talk is romantic? He knew this weekend would be difficult for me but he’s made it as lovely as possible. And who’d have thought we’d be celebrating Patty’s engagement this weekend, too. There’ll be photos tonight, so I better make sure I look gorgeous. The stress of Lorenzo has added years to me and it might be Patty’s night but I don’t want to look like her mother. More steam is required. I soak the cotton facecloth in very hot water and lay it across my forehead and crow’s feet, willing it to plump out the lines and take years off me.
Bathing complete, I sit in my fluffy white robe at the dressing table perfecting the hair and the make-up while Michael comes in to get ready. Shower, shave, quick squirt of aftershave, then he’s dressed and out before I’ve even finished with the hot brush.
‘Shall I wait for you?’ he asks.
‘No, you go to the bar and I’ll be down soon. Let me make an entrance,’ I tell him.
‘That means I have to notice the dress is new, doesn’t it?’ he smiles.
‘You’re learning.’
He heads out and I slip into the new sapphire blue (yep, another one of my ‘winter’ colours) cocktail dress I’ve bought specifically for tonight. Elegant drop earrings, my pashmina and I’m ready. I do a quick swirl for myself and I have to say, I’m quite pleased with the results. I step into the classic nude courts, which I’m told will make my legs longer, and I’m ready. The hotel has a movie-style staircase, which enables me to make the entrance that I’d planned and as Michael looks up to see me he smiles broadly and gives me a sexy wink. I think every woman kind of hopes that one day, she’ll enter a room and the entire crowd will turn to look – mesmerised by her beauty. I don’t like to kid myself but I think it’s happening now. Certainly more people than Michael have turned to look at me. I smile at them and notice a young, handsome guy waving. I start to raise my hand to wave back, stopping just in time when I realise he’s waving at someone behind me. I turn and see the most beautiful young woman in a scarlet prom dress, the kind only youth can get away with. So it wasn’t me they were staring at but it doesn’t matter: she is beautiful and if I were in the room I’d be staring at this lovely young thing, too. At least Michael still has his eyes on me.
We meet Patty and Jack in the bar. She is glowing, positively lighting up the room with her smile. For as long as I’ve known her, Patty has managed to raise the spirits in any situation. She makes people laugh and has always been a half full kind of girl. This is different, this isn’t a performance. I’m seeing true joy and adoration dancing across her smile. I can’t help but hug her.
‘You look absolutely stunning,’ I tell her.
We head into the Michelin-starred French bistro and read through the menu. It all sounds fabulous and I wish I could have a little taste of everything.
‘Why don’t we each pick something different and we’ll have a taste of each,’ I suggest.
‘Good idea,’ replies Patty. ‘Just one rule: no snails.’
‘So have you had any thoughts about the wedding?’ I ask Patty and Jack when we’ve ordered. ‘When it will be?’
‘Pretty soon,’ replies Patty. ‘Neither of us have huge families. Well, I have no family at all, not blood anyway. So it’ll be a pretty small affair.’
She looks at Jack and he nods.
‘Actually, I wanted to ask you whether you’d be my maid of honour.’
‘I would be absolutely delighted. Who’s going to give you away?’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t hold with all that nonsense even if I knew where my dad was. I’ll probably give myself away.’
Her smile fades slightly before perking up again.
‘But the biggest question I have to ask is this. Can we be the first to get married in your gorgeous new resort?’
It’s my turn for the smile to fade.
‘Oh Patty, I would have loved that but the whole thing has fallen through.’
I tell her everything about the visit to the bank manager and Charlie asking me to remortgage the apartment.
‘But I just couldn’t,’ I sigh. ‘So come Tuesday morning, we’re formally withdrawing our bid.’
‘Wow,’ says Patty. ‘I am so sorry. I know how much that meant to you both.’ She looks pensive and I imagine she had her heart set on the island. She starts smiling again when we’re interrupted by the arrival of the waiter bearing a dessert menu.
‘Are we sharing again?’ asks Michael.
‘After news like that?’ says Patty. ‘You’ve got to be joking. Ange is getting the chocolatiest thing on the menu and no one else is getting a look in.’
The mood is re-established and we order puddings. I get no say at all, Le Rêve Chocolat, which promises chocolate mousse and chocolate ganache, is on it’s way to me. My very best friends are easing my pain with pudding – well, there are worse things they could do. Just then I turn to see the waiters coming in with a bucket of champagne and a violinist following them. I panic.
They go straight past us to the young couple’s table where, on cue, the guy gets down on one knee and holds out a ring box with a sparkle refracted into a rainbow of colours by the dazzle of the chandelier. She looks quite overwhelmed then deliriously happy as she says yes and kisses him passionately. The violinist strikes up and the champagne is poured. A glass is given to everyone in the restaurant and we toast love’s young dream.
‘There must be something in the air today,’ says Michael
‘Bit public for me,’ I reply. ‘What if she wanted to say no?’
I know I snapped out those words. I don’t know why I panicked. Did I think Michael was going to follow Jack’s lead? Would it have been so bad if he had? I hope he didn’t notice. Fortunately, Patty moves the conversation on to wedding music and the worst song you could possibly have to walk down the aisle to.
‘ “Fat Bottomed Girl” wouldn’t be a great choice,’ says Jack.
‘I can’t believe that’s the first one you thought of.’ Patty thumps him. ‘I hope it isn’t a reflection of your feelings.’
‘Never ma chère,’ replies Jack channelling his inner Gomez Addams.
‘ “Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For”,’ suggests Michael, continuing the game.
‘ “I Want to Break Free”,’ I add.
‘That’ll be my divorce tune if you don’t all say something nice,’ Patty scolds.
‘OK then, “The Most Beautiful Girl in the World”,’ I tell her.
‘That’s better, you’re still invited.’
At the end of the evening we say our goodnights and head back to our rooms. Michael links my arm as we walk up the staircase.
‘Did you think I was going to propose back there?’
‘No, I mean not really. Well, I suppose I didn’t know.’
‘Did you want me to?’
At the top of the staircase I turn to face him and holding both his hands I say, ‘Despite everything that happened with the divorce, I do still believe in marriage, but I don’t think I’d be ready to do it again yet.’
‘Phew,’ replies Michael. ‘I feel exactly the same but I was terrified for a moment that if I didn’t I’d lose you.’
‘Never,’ I reply, kissing him. ‘Where on earth would I find another man who knew the Latin for slug.’
‘It’d be tough,’ he replies, opening the door to our suite.
We Go Together
I’m awakened by my phone buzzing away on the bedside table. It takes me a few seconds to work out what it is and then I go into motherly panic – it can only be Zoe at this time of night. I feel relief then confusion when I see it’s Patty. I look over at Michael who hasn’t been disturbed and is still blissfully dreaming away. I stealthily get out of bed and tiptoe into the bathroom taking the phone with me.
‘It’s four o’clock in the morning, what on earth…’ I whisper
.
‘Come to our room in ten minutes.’
I get dressed then leave a note for Michael in case, by some miracle, he wakes up. I sneak along the hallway. Hotels at night are very otherworldly. This isn’t the type of hotel to have been chosen for a girls’ weekend away or a stag do, so there are no drunken revellers returning from parties and no shenanigans taking place in the lift. Believe me I’ve seen a few of them in my time during cab-crew stopovers. The hotel night shift are quietly getting on with whatever night shift people do. They’re surprised to see someone wandering the corridors at this hour but they’re too polite and well trained to say anything. When I was an air stewardess, I saw married cabin crew and pilots sneaking into each other’s rooms thinking no one knew what was going on. You just learn to look away in the end. Right now, the guy delivering newspapers to the rooms does precisely that. He politely nods at me, then discreetly looks away as I quietly tap on Patty’s door and Jack peers down the corridor before dragging me inside.
* * *
The next morning we set off after a tense breakfast. Our journey home is quiet with each of us deep in thought. We drop Patty and Jack off to get changed, then head back to my apartment. I call Charlie and Josie and ask them to meet us there. When we reach the apartment, Michael gets the coffee cups ready and I pace anxiously until everyone arrives. Charlie and Peter arrive first.
‘So what’s the mystery?’ asks Charlie. ‘What have you two been up to?’
I shake my head, indicating we have to wait, so they take the hint and sit down at the dining table, cups of coffee in hand. Josie arrives next and looks around. She notes the atmosphere and sits down beside the guys. ‘I’m guessing this is serious if you’re serving coffee rather than wine,’ she says and I smile at her. I’m not sure how long I can hold out without saying something but I’m saved by the bell – literally. The buzzer goes and I hurry to let Patty in.
‘Ooh, this feels very tense.’
‘Well, Angie won’t tell us what’s going on,’ says Charlie.
I join everyone at the table and am relieved that I can finally say something.
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