Locked Out of Heaven

by Shirley Benton

  Terry stood up and handed me an envelope. I raised my eyebrows.

  “It won’t open itself!” Susie shrieked. “Quick, look at what’s inside!”

  I raised the flap of the envelope and lifted out a pair of return flight tickets to Salou in Spain for ten o’clock that night for Terry and myself. All I could do was stare at them, then at Terry, then at Susie, who was gawking at me with her eyes almost popping out of her head in a bid to see some sort of reaction from a motionless me.

  “What’s going on?” I eventually said.

  Mum leaped out of her seat. “Of all the things she could have said, she says, ‘What’s going on?’ – what is she like, Terry!” Susie came over and patted Terry on the arm affectionately.

  “I think the tickets say it all,” Terry said.

  “And isn’t it just wonderful that you got your passport organised a few months ago?” Susie never used words like wonderful. “You can just pop a few things into your trunk and head off into the sunset!”

  “So, we’re calling suitcases trunks now, are we, Mum?”

  She blushed and bad daughter that I was, Diary, I didn’t feel one bit guilty. I went upstairs and dug out my “trunk”, thinking that although this had come out of nowhere, it might do no harm for Nellie the Elephant to say goodbye to this circus of a house for the weekend.

  A few short hours later, there we were, arriving in Salou airport as if we did this type of impromptu holiday thing all the time. The hot evening air hit me as we went outside to get a taxi and I couldn’t help but laugh. Usually around this time, I was shivering in bed, even though I had about twenty blankets on top of me – our house had papier-mâché walls and the only insulation on our roof was spiders’ webs. The Salou evening air was so humid that it was hard even to breathe. And although it was amazing to be there, Diary, a part of me wished I was shivering in my bed at home.

  I’d had two assignments to hand in over the past week and one group project to deliver, and a gang of us had gone out last night to celebrate finishing. It was a late night that had been followed by a series of early morning lectures and I was absolutely shattered. I’d tried to sleep on the plane, but a poor unfortunate baby who clearly didn’t like planes had hollered her way through the flight. Terry had also been in touchy-feely mode all the way through the flight.

  I probably should have been in the mood for it after he’d been good enough to surprise me with a lovely holiday, Diary, but I was too tired. Plus, it was really obvious that our public display of affection was making the man sitting beside Terry highly uncomfortable. All in all, I’d be glad to get to the hotel and collapse into a coma.

  Our taxi to the hotel took half an hour. Terry had booked a place that was close to the PortAventura World theme park and according to the brochure, the hotel was a large complex with endless facilities and its own white sandy beach. The reception area was airy and modern, evoking a sense of peace and tranquillity with its floor-to-ceiling waterfall tucked away in a corner of the lobby. Although it was in the wee hours of the morning when we checked in, the staff looked fresh-faced and sunny.

  The tranquillity theme seemed to continue in the room itself, which was painted in shades of blue and green, with matching crisp blue bed linen, heavy turquoise curtains and muted lighting.

  “Look, Terry!” I pointed to a table beside the bed that was groaning under the weight of a champagne bucket and a tray of chocolate-covered strawberries. “Wow! This must be a really good-quality hotel to give something like that to their guests as standard.”

  Terry shook his head and smiled. “No, I arranged this as a special treat for you.”

  “Oh! That was really good of you, but there was no need, really.”

  “There’s every need. You sit down there and have some strawberries while I pop the champers open.”

  “Oh no, don’t open it, Terry. I’m too tired to drink a single thing.”

  “But it’s our first night here! Let’s get the holiday off to a good start.”

  He picked up a strawberry and traced it suggestively down my neck and between the top of my breasts. I pushed the strawberry into his mouth, stalk and all.

  “You open it up there and have a glass yourself. I might have one later.”

  I lay down on the bed. Within seconds, I was fast asleep.

  When I woke several hours later, Terry had passed out fully clothed on the bed with the empty champagne bottle lying on his belly and his mouth smeared with chocolate and strawberry juice. I got up wearily and poured the melted ice from the bucket down the toilet, then placed the bucket strategically on his side of the bed, hoping the bucket would still be empty when I woke again after all the alcohol Terry had consumed by himself. The poor thing. I knew that this wasn’t quite the romantic start to our holiday that he’d been hoping for . . .

  But I had no idea what he was actually planning.

  A proposal, Diary. A proposal! Terry spent most of the next day in bed hung-over from the bottle of champers, but that night he suggested a walk on the beach. There was an open-air concert taking place and he insisted on making our way up to the front, then he said he needed to go to the Portaloo and to make sure I stayed where I was until he came back.

  A few minutes later, I saw him up on stage taking the microphone off the singer!

  “I have a special question to ask the most special lady in the world,” he said, then reached down a hand to me to pull me up on the stage.

  Both of my hands were covering my mouth in shock and I was reluctant to relinquish either of them. The last thing in the world I wanted was to get up onstage! I shook my head, but I had no choice than to accept when a few people in the crowd tried to hoist me up, thinking they were helping. When I was up, he plopped down on one knee. Oh, God, Diary, I didn’t know where to look. Or what to say.

  A jumble of words whizzed past my eardrums as he produced a beautiful solitaire ring and held the box open in front of me.

  “I know we’re young but when you know, you just know. I fell in love with you as soon as I saw you in the supermarket, even though you had a tomato on your back a few seconds afterwards . . . I know we can make an amazing life together. I’m going to make you happy forever. Holly, will you marry me?” And not long after that: “Say something.”

  At that moment, I thought I’d never be able to speak again. I felt as if a bomb had just hit me. Where had this come out of? Yes, we’d been getting on well and it seemed to be going somewhere, but . . . this fast? And both of us only eighteen?

  Terry looked terrified when I seemed unable to say anything. I knew he was afraid I was going to say no. At that moment, I fully realised just how much he loves me and I hate saying that, because yet again I sound like a bighead, but he really does. I really wonder why sometimes, but there you have it.

  And don’t get me wrong – I like him, too. It’s just that . . . God, I’m going to fail miserably on the not sounding like a bighead front, but . . . I think he’s slightly more into me than I’m into him. But I’m thinking that’s okay. It might even be normal. There’s probably always one person who’s more into the other in a relationship. I don’t know – this is my first one, after all.

  I knew I needed to give him an answer. I have to admit, I felt a flash of fury. He shouldn’t have done this in front of a group of people. He shouldn’t have put me in this position.

  “Terry, it’s too soon,” I hissed, hoping the microphone Terry had spoken into wouldn’t pick up my words. “We’ve only been together a few months! How do we know if we even truly know each other? And we’re so young . . .”

  “I knew you’d say those things,” Terry said.

  He was still down on one knee and I had to fight the urge to tell him to get up. I felt sorry for him and sympathy wasn’t something I ever experienced around him.

  “But, Holly, I know this is it. We’re so good together. All I’m asking for is a chance. Let’s get engaged, let’s make plans for the future and you’ll see just how fantastic
it’ll be, I promise you. Your family will be so happy. My family will be thrilled, too. We all get on so well. How often does that happen? Marry me, Holly, and I swear you’ll never regret it.”

  He was so earnest, Diary. And I believe him, I really do. I know he’ll always look after me. I know he’ll give me an amazing life. But that didn’t change the fact that we’re eighteen and we’ve only been together a wet weekend.

  But it was yes or no, and what would no mean? I couldn’t walk away from everything I had with Terry. He’d lifted me up from the depths of despair after Ricky died. I don’t know if I’d have coped without him and what he’d done for me meant a lot. And I do really care about him, Diary. If I said no, that would be it. I just knew it would be. Plus, I couldn’t make a show of him in front of all of these people by saying no. It bothered me, though, that he probably knew that very well before asking.

  All I could do was say yes right now. I’d explain to him when we got down from this stage that I’d accepted because I was put on the spot in front of a large crowd of people, but we needed to think about this before taking things any further.

  So I nodded and squeaked a tiny, “Yes.”

  The crowd whooped. The band, who were obviously in on Terry’s plan, started to play Cliff Richards’ ‘Congratulations’. (Cliff Richards coming into the equation was a coincidence, I’d imagine.)

  Woo-hoo!” Terry sprung up from the ground, grabbed me by the waist and lifted me up. “Holly, this is the best moment of my life.”

  “Terry, we have to talk afterwards . . .”

  He wasn’t listening. He was pumping his fist to the audience and shouting, “Yes!”

  When I told Terry why I’d said yes, he was heartbroken. Eventually, I decided the only thing I could do was let him down gently. It’s not as if I never want to marry him – just not yet! I told him I love him and I that I thought we’d have an amazing life together but then we needed to spend more time getting to know each other first. Eventually, we compromised on having a long engagement.

  When we went home, Susie was beside herself with happiness. She knew – there’s no doubt about that, even though she won’t admit it. We didn’t ring home because Terry wanted to deliver the good news in person, but the second we walked in, her eyes dropped to my ring finger and lit up before I said a word. She said it was all in my imagination when I asked her after if she’d known, of course. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her as happy as she did when Terry walked in and said I was going to do him the honour of being his wife. Willie grunted something about how Terry should have had the manners to ask for his daughter’s hand in marriage, but then he winked and smiled, and I realised Terry already had before we went to Salou. Susie and Willie seem to think they’re very subtle – or that I’m very stupid.

  But here’s the thing, Diary. I’m telling you and nobody else, okay?

  I’m not sure if I did the right thing agreeing to the long engagement. I wasn’t sure at the time and I’m definitely not sure now. It’s just . . . well, I just keep thinking that I should be feeling something . . . more. Everyone else seems more excited about this than me. And that’s another thing – out of our four parents, I thought someone would raise an objection to us getting married so young, but nobody has a bad word to say about it. Am I the only one who thinks we’re too young?

  I don’t want to lose Terry, but he’s the only boyfriend I’ve ever had and ever will have now. How can I be sure that he’s the one? How can he be so sure that I’m the one, and will he change his mind when we’re a bit older? Why am I not happier about all this and is that a sign that this isn’t the right thing for me?

  I don’t know. I’m so confused, Diary. But then I meet Terry and everything’s great, and I wonder if I’m being silly. I probably am. As long as we’re still as happy as we are now at the end of our long engagement, everything is going to work out just fine.

  And I haven’t thought about Damo in ages, so that’s a good sign. Terry’s the one I should be with and that’s that. I’m sure it’s normal for someone to get the jitters when they get engaged anyway and you know what? It’s nice to be normal for once.

  Chapter 34

  “Nobody told me I was going to be the token fat girl at the photo shoot,” I said to nobody in particular.

  I wished Susie had never put that phrase in my head.

  I’d been thrilled when the country’s biggest-selling Sunday newspaper rang and asked if I’d be interested in doing an interview on how it felt to be a working mother in the country’s most challenging economic period. Well, no, thrilled is the wrong word. I’d been horrified at the prospect of being photographed while I was still a walking tub of lard but thrilled at the thought of the publicity and therefore potential work opportunities that it would generate for brand Me.

  It would be part of a feature on working mothers in the paper’s accompanying glossy magazine and there would be four women taking part. I didn’t need to worry about clothes, they told me. I just had to give them my measurements well in advance and they’d have plenty of clothes for me to choose from. The clothes were the first stumbling block in this experience, and Paul and his camera were right there with me, capturing every humiliating moment for inclusion in the last episode of Diary of a Boomeranger.

  “I don’t understand. Are you sure you haven’t gone up a size?”

  The stylist nearly lifted me off the ground as she applied pressure to my back with one hand and furiously yanked up the zip of the dress she’d put me in with the other.

  “Not a chance,” I said vehemently.

  I’d just done the weigh-in for the magazine the previous day and had been told I’d lost half a stone in a week. The stylist raised her eyebrows dubiously.

  When the stylist finally found clothes to fit me and the nightmare that was the photo shoot ended at last, it was time for the interview. It would surely be a piece of cake after the humiliation I’d just endured.

  I was told to meet a journalist called Heidi in the bar at a table to the right just inside the door. As soon as I got to the door of the bar, a woman to my right stood up and waved to me. I waved back and walked over, admiring her attire as I did so. She was wearing a 1950s-style white swing dress with large red polka dots. It was exactly the kind of thing I’d love to have been able to wear. Halter neck – check. Cinched in at the waist – check. Flattering on the boobs, check. I made a mental note to train for an extra ten minutes that night.

  “Holly, it’s lovely to meet you. I’m Heidi.”

  “Lovely to meet you too, Heidi.”

  “Right, sit down and we’ll get on with this. I ordered coffee and cheesecake for us.”

  “You’re very good, but I’ll just have the coffee, thanks.”

  “It’s ordered now anyway, but just leave it there when it arrives if you don’t want it.”

  Heidi wasn’t exactly the warmest person I’d ever met and the interview dragged. My eyes kept drifting to the cheesecake as we talked. It looked delicious. I wondered if there was any way I could take it home and give it to the kids, or even Susie. It’d only be thrown in the bin as soon as we left anyway.

  “Do you want to eat the rest of your cheesecake before we go, Heidi? You’ve only eaten half of it.”

  She’d cut it in half when it arrived and pushed one half aside.

  “No. Why, do you?”

  “No, I’m trying to stay away from that kind of stuff. Thanks for ordering it, though.”

  Heidi called for the bill. Before the waiter left, I caught his eye.

  “Can I ask, do you have anything to put this in so that I can take it home? Sorry, I know you’re a bar and not a restaurant as such, but . . .”

  “No, that’s okay. We should have something.”

  He took our cheesecake plates away. Heidi and I made small talk about our plans for the evening until he returned with our cheesecake in two plastic containers and the bill. Heidi paid and took the receipt.

  “Got to dash. Lovely to meet
you, Holly,” she said, grabbing her coat.

  “You too. Don’t forget your cheesecake!”

  “Oh no, I don’t want it. You take it.” She wiggled her fingers. “Laters.”

  After the photo shoot and interview, I made my way to Eire TV to do my weekly reflective or reaction interview for Diary of a Boomeranger.

  My escapades for episode four would include footage of the blind date (which had been a total washout – even worse than the first time round – and would probably make great cringeworthy TV). Also my photo shoot with the newspaper and the nightclub launch.

  Paul sat in silence beside me as I drove to Eire TV. While I didn’t dislike him as such, there was something about him that put me on edge. He struck me as sneaky, but I wasn’t quite sure why. I went through possible small-talk topics in my head to dispel the awkward silence and then thought of something that I actually wanted to talk about.

  “Paul, do you remember when I asked Luke if he was married and he said no? Was it my imagination, or was he pissed off with me for asking, do you think?”

  “I doubt he was pissed off with you for asking – he probably just didn’t want to talk about the stuff that happened to him in the past. I’m guessing you didn’t know about that stuff when you asked in the first place, though.”

  “No – what happened? Was it bad?”

  “It doesn’t get much worse. Ten years ago, his wife was murdered while she was pregnant.”

  “What? Good God. Who would do something like that?”

  “A jealous ex. I don’t know the details really, but from what I’ve heard, her ex-boyfriend couldn’t handle it when she married someone else. And when word got out that she was pregnant, he lost it.”