Croissants and Jam (11 page)

    ‘Rome. You are a bit off track old boy, Are you on a driving holiday then?’ He laughs, and I can’t help liking him. He is very like Christian and with a sudden punch to my stomach I realise that I am not missing Simon at all.

    ‘Not exactly, we kind of missed our flight and, anyway, we bought a car,’ finishes Christian and looks at me with a shrug.

Robin rushes to the end of the balcony and strains to see the Lemon.

    ‘Yeah I saw the car, it’s amazingly cool. Where on earth did you find it?’

Christian holds his hands up in mock protest.

    ‘Not in front of Claudine, it’s a sore subject,’ he says between mouthfuls of flan. I watch with veiled disgust as he spoons more olives onto his plate.

    ‘Brilliant car, you must take me for a spin. There is a garage in the next town but that won’t be open till the morning.’ He looks towards Olivia who is smiling at us.

    ‘We have a spare can of petrol in the garage and we can use that to get down there in the morning, in the meantime, bottoms up.’ He chinks glasses with Christian.

I am still hearing the words tomorrow morning! Oh please say he is joking.

    ‘Tomorrow,’ I say aloud and quickly bite my lip.

    ‘It’s fine, we have a spare room.’ Olivia smiles warmly at me.

Spare room? Oh my God this is just getting worse. I look imploringly at Christian who avoids my eyes. I excuse myself and wander upstairs to the bathroom, which is the size of my parents lounge. I sit with a puff onto the toilet seat and admire the photographs. The wall is totally covered in Robin’s brilliant photography. I realise that all the photos are of Treetops in its varying stages of development, and Christian is in several of them. I wander over to the one of him in a hard hat posing by the swimming pool and sigh. So, he is an upper-class builder. Someone who helps rich toffs build their homes. Ah, that explains the
bad press
comment. God, what an inflated ego he has, he probably needs all that food to feed it. Dad would never approve of someone like him. I fiddle with the assortment of perfumes that sit on the shelf above the sink. What am I going to do? This is just getting worse. I have already eaten far too much that I feel seriously certain I must have gained a whole dress size. I should not have eaten those smoked salmon flans. I plead with God to deliver up a calorie-free dinner, or at least as calorie free as possible. I check my reflection in the mirror and do not drop dead from the shock. The pimple has almost gone and when I release the scrunch my hair falls in gentle waves. But what do I do now? This is a terrible situation. We were supposed to get a can of petrol and leave. Now, I am stuck here and probably for the night too. Still, I assure myself, I am obviously safe as Christian the builder obviously wants nothing to jeopardise his romance with Claudine. Whichever way it goes it is better than sleeping in the Lemon I suppose. Oh bloody Claudine and bloody Simon. I tell you I am beginning to hate both of them. If it weren’t for them we would not be in this situation. Honestly, when I remember the pressure I was put under to get to that sodding dinner and now I am having dinner here instead. I decide to make the most of it and quickly tidy myself up before heading back downstairs. After all these are my last days of freedom, so I may as well enjoy them. I can refuse the dessert easily enough. With a feeling of total abandonment I go back downstairs.

Chapter Nine

    Several hours later and I have eaten so much that I swear a surgical tummy tuck will be the only way to get me into my wedding dress. All my great plans to avoid high calorie food were thwarted by… me. Yes, none other than me. I have drunk three glasses of wine and have unashamedly eaten my way through at least two dishfuls of crisps, and a tasty succulent piece of duck with wonderful orange sauce accompanied by dollops of creamy mashed potato. Not satisfied with this, I then followed it up with chocolate cheesecake covered in double cream and strawberries, and delicious strawberries they were too. I am now polishing off the remains of a box of Belgian chocolates. Visions of myself looking like a big blob in a wedding dress pull me up sharp, and I refuse a top up to my wine glass. At least, I thought I had, but when I look again, my glass is half full. My God, the whole evening has flown by in a blur of wine and chocolate. Yes, well not a bad way to spend an evening. I have charaded my way through film titles, sang myself hoarse to ‘New York New York’ on their karaoke machine and danced ‘the jig’ until I dropped on the Wii. All in all I have had more fun tonight than I have had in a long time. Now, I am climbing all over Christian to get into my position on the twister game. Gerard laughingly hands me my wine, which I attempt to take.

    ‘Give her an extra point if she can do it,’ he shouts.

Of course, at that moment my Blackberry trills. It is Simon’s ring tone and, in my panic, I lose my footing and fall onto the floor taking Christian with me.

    ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get it,’ offers Olivia.

    ‘No,’ I scream.

I am face to face with Christian, our noses almost touching.

    ‘I give up,’ he laughs nervously.

I jump up, feeling my head spin and turn to take the phone that Olivia is handing me. Oh shit. What do I say? I am drunk in charge of another personality.

    ‘Hello,’ I slur.

    ‘Annabel? Is that you? I tried you earlier but your phone was off.’

Shit, bugger, oh to hell with him phoning me now. I am trying to do the best I can to get to sodding Rome, why can’t they just leave me alone?

    ‘Oh hi, how are you?’ I say backing out of the room. ‘The battery had died.’

    ‘It’s almost one in the morning, but I thought I would try you again. I expected to leave a message. Is everything okay, did you and that couple find somewhere to stay?’

I suddenly feel sick. The door opens and Olivia walks past mouthing ‘coffee’, to which I nod.

    ‘Oh yes we did,’ I lie again. ‘We found a little bed and breakfast actually, very quaint.’

    ‘Really, whereabouts?’

Whereabouts? What does he mean whereabouts?

    ‘In the Provence area,’ I say forcing a yawn.

    ‘Provence? What are you doing there, surely that’s a bit out of your way?’

Oh sod it.

    ‘Oh, I’d better go, it’s my turn for the bathroom,’ I say quickly.

    ‘Oh right. Okay, good.’ He sounds flustered.

    ‘I just wanted to tell you that Kaz is here and she said to tell you that the dress has been collected, and it’s all okay. What time do you think you will get here tomorrow?’

I struggle to stop my speech from slurring.

    ‘I’m not sure. I will phone you when I get near.’

He seems happy with this and, after a few minutes, I hang up and wander into the kitchen where Flora and Gerard are saying their goodbyes. After seeing them off Olivia shows us to our room.

    ‘I’ll fetch our bags darling,’ winks Christian. I stare at the king-size bed and look around for a couch. There isn’t one. How can Olivia and Robin have such a fantastic house with a fantastic spare bedroom, with an equally fantastic bed and not have a bloody fantastic couch?

    ‘How can there not be a couch,’ I moan, ‘I can’t sleep with him.’

I turn to see Olivia at the door with the coffee. I bite my lip.

    ‘He snores when he has been drinking,’ I say quickly.

Christian steps past us carrying the supermarket carrier bags.

    ‘Oh yes, like a pig I do. She always sleeps on the couch when I snore. I put our bits in these bags darling and left our suitcase in the car, is that okay?’ He drops the bag onto my feet and I stifle a groan. What a bastard. He takes the coffees gratefully. Olivia stands uncertainly in the doorway and Christian hugs her.

    ‘It will be fine,’ he laughs. ‘She snores louder than me when she is drunk.’

I try to laugh. Olivia gently closes the door and I grab my toothbrush from the bag, and storm into the bathroom. I fumble around in the cupboard under the sink for some toothpaste.

    ‘I can’t believe you’ve let this happen,’ I say while throwing things onto the floor.

    ‘What did you say?’ He has followed me into the bathroom. ‘By the way, you were awfully good when you were doing your Titanic charade. Better than Kate Winslet, I thought.’

He hands me a travel-size tube of Colgate. Why am I not surprised he has come prepared?

He pushes his toothbrush under the tap as I throw water at him.

    ‘Bog off.’

    ‘Ha, well I am in the right place to bog off. Now, as much as it pains me to do this, we have to share that bed.’

I spit out the toothpaste.

    ‘We can’t,’ I stutter.

    ‘We have no choice.’

I walk into the bedroom.

    ‘Of course if you were a gentleman you would let me have the bed.’

He laughs and takes a petit four from a bag. Honestly does this man ever stop eating?

    ‘I wish you would stop eating. I feel like I gain weight just watching you,’ I say trying to cover my blushes.

    `‘Well, if you were a gentlewoman you would let me have the bed, and by the way, your karaoke… It was, how can I put it? It was… painful, oh it was so painful.’ He bites into a macaroon and grins.

I quickly snatch it from him.

    ‘It has almonds in it, you can’t eat that.’

He rushes to the bathroom and I shamefully finish the macaroon myself. Oh God, that’s another pound on my hips. I picture my wedding being billed as ‘My Big Fat Italian Wedding’ and shudder. He returns from the bathroom and suggests we put something in the middle of the bed. I am so tired I really don’t have the energy to argue with him. I rummage through the carrier bags for a T-shirt and dive back into the bathroom. I stare at my face in the mirror and realise I have to remove all my make-up. God, I can’t let him see me without my mascara. I debate which would be worse, with the mascara now and panda eyes in the morning, or bare eyes now
and
in the morning. Whichever way it goes they are both totally dire. I choose to remove it, and clean my face of all make-up. I don the T-shirt and cover it with the towelling robe that is hanging on the door. I return to the bedroom and look at him shyly. He takes one look at my face and makes a sign of the cross with his fingers.

    ‘Oh no, she is make-up-less.’

I shake my head.

    ‘I should have let you choke on that macaroon,’ I hiss, climbing into the bed which feels lovely. I pull the heavy quilt over me and smell lavender. To my alarm, the moment I lay flat my head spins. God, I am so drunk. I look to my clothes that I left scattered on the floor and wonder if should fold them. Before I can make a decision he is back from the bathroom with an armful of clothes which he throws on the floor next to mine. Images of Simon neatly folding his underpants flash through my mind. The mattress moves beneath me and I find myself shifting further from the middle of the bed. I have avoided all eye contact with him, in fact, when he emerged from the bathroom I kept my eyes focused on the painting opposite the bed as though studying it when the truth is I can barely see it as my vision is so blurred. I feel the pillows plonked at the side of me.

    ‘Right, how is that? I don’t think either one of us is in danger of rolling over and suffocating the other, do you?’

    ‘Suffocation is too good for you,’ I scoff as he pulls at the duvet.

    ‘Charming, it is actually thanks to me that you have got this far.’

I sigh.

    ‘Yes, well, that is precisely my point.’

He bangs his pillow several times, and I fight an urge to groan.

    ‘Yup, well goodnight. You were good fun tonight by the way.’

The last remark is said so quietly I barely hear him and then he clicks off the bedside lamp and I am left in darkness with my thoughts. Oh God it is terrifying, worse than being alone with Freddy Kruger. Once I hear his steady breathing, I relax. Don’t you just hate night time? Every negative thought I have ever had I swear has come in the early hours of the morning. I force myself to think of Simon, and the wedding, but this makes my stomach churn. I concentrate on making my body relax by telling my muscles to relax and let go, but to no avail. After what feels like an eternity I am still awake. I try Mum’s deep-breathing technique but no luck. Christian’s steady breathing is beginning to irritate me. Bloody men, why is it they can always drop off to sleep so easily? I count sheep, I sing soothing songs in my head but nothing works. I am so tense that I feel I may spring from the bed at any given moment. I cannot possibly sleep in this bed with another man beside me. My whole marriage is at stake, my whole life in fact. I tense and then release each of the muscles in my body. This seems to have the desired effect. I feel myself becoming drowsy. I tighten my calf muscle and slowly release it and, oh God, I have cramp. Oh shit, the pain is excruciating.

    ‘Oh my God, shit, shit…’ I attempt to groan quietly and throw the quilt off. I am pulling frantically at my leg when he stirs. The pain is now unbearable.

The light is snapped on and I am in so much agony I really couldn’t care what he sees.

    ‘Oh my God,’ I moan, kicking my leg out and hitting him on the shoulder. He yelps and jumps from the bed.

    ‘Pull,’ I cry.

    ‘Is this some bedtime ritual of yours?’ he snaps unsympathetically.

I squint at his black and yellow Simpsons underpants.

    ‘Oh, your underpants are blinding me,’ I groan. ‘I’ve got cramp, oh God the pain.’

I throw my leg wantonly towards him. He looks at it with distaste for a second and then pulls it. I sigh with grateful relief.

    ‘If it’s cramp shouldn’t you stand up and try to drink some water?’

    ‘Yes, great advice but for now can you just pull it a bit harder,’ I snap.

To my horror he grabs my foot with both hands and yanks. He pulls it so bloody hard that I feel myself slide down the bed and land with a thump onto the floor, my bottom stinging. I look to Christian who lies against the dressing table panting and I burst out laughing. He signals me to keep quiet and attempts to get up but loses his balance and falls down again, which sets me off laughing even more. I pull the sweatshirt over my knees and wipe my eyes with my hand.
.
    ‘You said to pull,’ he says grinning.