her mouth right next to my ear. ‘And
if you want something extra special, if you feel the need to really pamper
yourself and treat yourself to the crème-de-la-crème, you can always pay for
it. There are some fantastic agencies you can go to for help.’
Ugh! I suddenly notice a twinkling, fake Christmas tree over
by the far side of the pool. Was that there yesterday?
‘I know you must think I’m awful, but I have a very high sex
drive and I’m not going to let my fingers do the walking just because hubby’s
in Frankfurt or Tokyo for six months of the year. Anyway, we should exchange
email addresses and keep in touch. I mean, it must be hell on earth for you
already, sweetheart!’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, when was the last time you saw Clive?’
I try to think. It’s late December now. He was back in late
August and early September. We went away for the weekend to Paris. I got food
poisoning, ripped my new dress and bought a souvenir Toulouse-Lautrec coffee
mug.
‘It must have been just under four months ago.’
‘And how old are you now? Twenty-five? Twenty-six? Don’t
mean to be rude!’
‘Twenty-seven.’
‘Well. Close enough. Believe me, sweetheart, a good-looking
girl like you on her own, it’s not healthy. You don’t think things are going to
change when he marries you, do you? You’ll be crawling up the walls like I was,
before I saw the light.’
I laugh. ‘Well, I’ll certainly keep your advice in mind!’
I’m trying to keep it light, but it’s bloody difficult. I try to imagine
Rebecca trying to crawl up a wall and it’s funny.
‘There’ll be plenty of men who’ll be only too pleased
to…well, you know what I’m going to say so I won’t say it.’
Thank you for that, Rebecca.
I look into my cup of herbal tea and feign surprise that
it’s empty.
‘Well! Enough of this herbal stuff! I’m going back to my
room to have a genuine fake coffee and a sleep before dinner. All this exercise
is tiring me out!’
Does that sound convincing? I stand up before she can react
and follow me back to my room like a lost dog. I can feel the nausea rising.
‘ Okeydoke , sweetheart. What time
are you going to the restaurant this evening. Seven-thirty alright for you? We can
have another little chat over the vegetarian sausages! It’s Orange Almond Torte
for dessert today, by the way. Delish!’
I smile at her as if I’m confirming this and head back to my
room as fast as my feet can carry me. Bloody hell!
I lie on the bed in my robe and look at the ceiling. Me and
the ceiling are becoming quite good friends, I realise. Perhaps we could keep
in touch after I’ve left here. I’ll give it my email address.
My eyelids start to feel heavy and, no matter how hard I try
to keep them open, they finally shut and I’m just on the point of drifting away
when I’m jerked awake by the message noise coming from my mobile.
For a few moments, I can’t remember where it is, then I
realise I’d dropped it on the floor. It seems to have bounced under the bed, so
I lean over and pick it up. It’s a text from Clive. It seems only recently that
I’d have been fairly excited when I saw his name on the display, but now…
I click on the message and can hardly believe my eyes.
Big sorries . Can’t make xmas . Feel terrible. Have to stay. More wrk with new acq than thought. Mum and Dad still plsd to have u thoug . Will ring
when hve time. xxxx ’
Numbly, I read this three times, trying to get something out
of it that isn’t there. Trying to make it mean something else. Trying to read
in between the lines. I read it a fourth time and it still gives out the same
message. There’re no ambivalent phrases, no questionable meanings. He’s not
coming back for Christmas.
There are four kisses. He usually puts three. He’ll ring when
he has time. Why not ring now? Too expensive? Signal weak? What time is it
there? I can’t work it out. Not just now. Isn’t this something you’d tell
someone
if you want something extra special, if you feel the need to really pamper
yourself and treat yourself to the crème-de-la-crème, you can always pay for
it. There are some fantastic agencies you can go to for help.’
Ugh! I suddenly notice a twinkling, fake Christmas tree over
by the far side of the pool. Was that there yesterday?
‘I know you must think I’m awful, but I have a very high sex
drive and I’m not going to let my fingers do the walking just because hubby’s
in Frankfurt or Tokyo for six months of the year. Anyway, we should exchange
email addresses and keep in touch. I mean, it must be hell on earth for you
already, sweetheart!’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, when was the last time you saw Clive?’
I try to think. It’s late December now. He was back in late
August and early September. We went away for the weekend to Paris. I got food
poisoning, ripped my new dress and bought a souvenir Toulouse-Lautrec coffee
mug.
‘It must have been just under four months ago.’
‘And how old are you now? Twenty-five? Twenty-six? Don’t
mean to be rude!’
‘Twenty-seven.’
‘Well. Close enough. Believe me, sweetheart, a good-looking
girl like you on her own, it’s not healthy. You don’t think things are going to
change when he marries you, do you? You’ll be crawling up the walls like I was,
before I saw the light.’
I laugh. ‘Well, I’ll certainly keep your advice in mind!’
I’m trying to keep it light, but it’s bloody difficult. I try to imagine
Rebecca trying to crawl up a wall and it’s funny.
‘There’ll be plenty of men who’ll be only too pleased
to…well, you know what I’m going to say so I won’t say it.’
Thank you for that, Rebecca.
I look into my cup of herbal tea and feign surprise that
it’s empty.
‘Well! Enough of this herbal stuff! I’m going back to my
room to have a genuine fake coffee and a sleep before dinner. All this exercise
is tiring me out!’
Does that sound convincing? I stand up before she can react
and follow me back to my room like a lost dog. I can feel the nausea rising.
‘ Okeydoke , sweetheart. What time
are you going to the restaurant this evening. Seven-thirty alright for you? We can
have another little chat over the vegetarian sausages! It’s Orange Almond Torte
for dessert today, by the way. Delish!’
I smile at her as if I’m confirming this and head back to my
room as fast as my feet can carry me. Bloody hell!
I lie on the bed in my robe and look at the ceiling. Me and
the ceiling are becoming quite good friends, I realise. Perhaps we could keep
in touch after I’ve left here. I’ll give it my email address.
My eyelids start to feel heavy and, no matter how hard I try
to keep them open, they finally shut and I’m just on the point of drifting away
when I’m jerked awake by the message noise coming from my mobile.
For a few moments, I can’t remember where it is, then I
realise I’d dropped it on the floor. It seems to have bounced under the bed, so
I lean over and pick it up. It’s a text from Clive. It seems only recently that
I’d have been fairly excited when I saw his name on the display, but now…
I click on the message and can hardly believe my eyes.
Big sorries . Can’t make xmas . Feel terrible. Have to stay. More wrk with new acq than thought. Mum and Dad still plsd to have u thoug . Will ring
when hve time. xxxx ’
Numbly, I read this three times, trying to get something out
of it that isn’t there. Trying to make it mean something else. Trying to read
in between the lines. I read it a fourth time and it still gives out the same
message. There’re no ambivalent phrases, no questionable meanings. He’s not
coming back for Christmas.
There are four kisses. He usually puts three. He’ll ring when
he has time. Why not ring now? Too expensive? Signal weak? What time is it
there? I can’t work it out. Not just now. Isn’t this something you’d tell
someone
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