Croissants and Jam (20 page)

    ‘They are here.’

I nod silently and wait for him to say more, to perhaps comment on what happened between us but he is silent. I fight to control my tears when I realise I was probably just a distraction for him. Just because he is posh and successful doesn’t mean he still can’t be a wide boy. He is a typical man, just having a bit of fun. Oh surely not. Surely that kiss wasn’t just fun. How can I possibly marry Simon now? But how can I not? He would be devastated. I can’t possibly do that to him. Finally, I meet a man who could be my Mr Right and it is all so terribly wrong. I take my last look at the Lemon. In silence we remove everything we need from the car and wait. In just over half an hour I will finally be in Rome and, for the first time since I set out on my journey I realise it really is the last place I want to be. I have never felt so sad.

Christian

    I shouldn’t have encouraged her to drink the whisky. The woman brings out the devil in me. The truth is I do know why I did it and it really isn’t fair on her. Why couldn’t she have loosened up and said that the marriage was a mistake? Damn her. She is so vulnerable and I can’t even comfort her. I dare not. Of course, I could have misunderstood and maybe the scene I am visualising isn’t going to materialise but I think I can pretty much stake my life on the fact it will. If only she had said something. Just given a hint of how she feels. Would it have made any difference? I suppose not, at least not if I’m right. Damn you Bels. How much booze did you need to say what I wanted to hear? And what the hell are you doing with him?

Chapter Fourteen

    I sit listening to Pavarotti, who is blaring from the speakers in the back of the taxi, half expecting the driver to pop his head around the seat at any moment and hand us a couple of Cornettos. My hand luggage pushes uncomfortably against my foot. Christian and I sit squashed in the back with his laptop and my handbag being the only things that separate us. He has been texting ever since we got into the taxi and has not spoken to me at all. In fact, now I come to think of it, the last words he spoke to me were ‘They are here.’ I feel totally miserable and wish so much he would say something. I shift in my seat and cough but still he does not look up. I pull a mirror from the handbag and tidy my hair. I debate whether to apply some make-up but decide against it. I am very tipsy from the whisky and don’t trust myself to apply it properly. I look across to Christian who seems intent on what he is doing. I cannot remember him ever being so serious. I keep looking at him until finally he lifts his eyes to me.

    ‘I’m so nervous,’ I whisper.

    ‘Why don’t we finish the whisky, there’s not much left?’ he offers.

I simply nod, grateful that he is still speaking to me and even more grateful that he kept the plastic cups. So it is thirty minutes or so later that we arrive in Rome, decidedly pissed but at least my heart has stopped racing. I text Simon to say I am near. The driver asks which hotel we need and we both say in unison.

    ‘The Napoléon please.’

I stare at Christian who starts to laugh.

    ‘Classic,’ he grins. ‘I don’t believe this.’

A feeling of panic punches me in the stomach and I feel sick.

    ‘You can’t possibly come in with me,’ I say quickly, sounding very unreasonable.

We have hit Rome and the traffic is dense. The driver starts honking his horn and I sigh. Oh to go back to the peace and quiet of Provence. I strain to see the sights but I really do not have much interest. I manage a glimpse of the Colosseum in the distance and some impressive columns by the side of the road but most of what I see is no different from any other city, except the crazy Italian traffic of course.

    ‘Of course I can,’ he responds matter-of-factly.

    ‘But you are drunk,’ I say accusingly, overlooking the fact that I must be too.

He laughs, throwing his head back.

    ‘Not as drunk as you. I think you will be glad of my help when we arrive, unless you want to fall flat on your face at his feet. Although come to think of it, from what I have heard of him, I imagine he would probably like that.’

Oh this man. Whenever I start liking him, he always shows me what a bastard he is.

    ‘Simon is not at all like that,’ I snap.

His face clouds over and he looks thoughtful.

    ‘Uh oh, is that his name? Simon? What a surprise. I should have known it was Simon. What an idiot.’ His face turns thunderous. Oh God, something doesn’t seem right.

    ‘I don’t understand,’ I say stupidly. ‘Do you know him? No, of course you don’t, it’s not like he’s famous or anything.’

He doesn’t reply. The car comes to a halt and I stare at the hotel entrance. Oh shit, we are here. Christian yanks open my door and I almost fall out of the bloody taxi.

    ‘Are you coming?’ he snaps.

He grabs my bags and storms ahead of me. I pull a face at the driver and, grateful for the flat sandals, follow unsteadily behind Christian. From the outside the hotel looks very plush and I glance down at my skirt, which I actually rather like now and can’t help wondering what Simon will think of it. My mother will die if she sees it. Oh what the hell, they won’t all be waiting in the lounge will they? My God, how wrong can a girl be? Christian waltzes through the revolving door. I follow but the door seems to spin faster than I anticipate. I manage to go through, but sod it, I find myself back outside, don’t you just hate it when that happens? Determined to get it right, I wait for the doors to stop spinning so fast and make a second attempt. Finally, success and I find myself in the cool and dark inertia of the hotel. Pushing my sunglasses back onto my head I stop abruptly. Simon, with my parents, two other people and Alex are standing in the foyer looking at me. Simon is wearing his Marc Jacob jumper and I burst out laughing at the sight of it, as you do when you have had a little too much to drink. Christian stops walking and I bump into him. I feel my head thump and my face flush. Christian pushes me back and I steady myself just in time. I go to brush my hair back and realise I am holding the, now empty, bottle of whisky. Oh shit, and bollocks it. I then realise that Simon is looking at Christian and not at me. His lips are tight and he seems about to explode. I think about making a run for it but my head is spinning so much I really don’t think I would get very far. I fix my sight on to the desk at reception and head slowly toward it. If I can just hold onto something this spinning may stop.

    ‘You are drunk, and you are dressed like… well, words fail me…’ Simon snaps, flexing his neck.

Jesus, why is he wearing that jumper?

    ‘Ah, Marc Jacob jumper,’ I scream. ‘It’s been with me everywhere,’ I giggle.

I bite my lip and attempt to straighten my skirt with my spare hand but I am only just about managing to hold onto the counter. I carefully place the whisky bottle onto the check-in desk and smile lopsidedly.

    ‘This is for your dad and this…’ I slap the carrier with the handbag inside it against his thigh. ‘Is for…’

Everyone has gone silent. I fumble to remember what I was going to say but I can’t recall anything.

    ‘You’re two days late, you missed the family dinner and you walk in here pissed,’ Simon says quietly. He resembles a bubbling volcano and I feel myself tense.

    ‘I’m not pithed,’ I argue. ‘Just a bit tippy, that’s all.’

He shakes his head.

    ‘You reek of whisky,’ he states flatly as he passes me.

I was sure he looked better in the Marc Jacob jumper. In fact, I was sure he looked very different altogether. He runs his fingers angrily through his hair and I spy several grey ones by his temple. Bloody hell, when did they sprout? Surely I would have noticed them before. I must be very drunk I think and feel rather ashamed.

    ‘Simon,’ I begin but he puts his hand up. Oh I see, talk to the hand time is it?

    'Be quiet Annabel,’ he says with a tone of authority.

I see Christian is seething and hold my breath. His face is thunderous and the muscle in his jaw is twitching.

    ‘Don’t talk to her like that, you’re not her father,’ he says sharply, walking to the counter and handing over his passport.

I cringe while at the same time feeling it is pretty cool to have two men quarrel over you.

    ‘Did
he
bring you Annabel? Is
he
the reason why you’re so late?’ Simon barks at me. ‘Did you lie to me about the middle-aged couple?’ He stretches his neck from side to side.

I open my mouth to speak but Christian gets there before me.

    ‘Is this how you talk to your wife-to-be? She has not been here five minutes and you are shouting at her.’

    ‘Really, it is okay,’ I say, while thinking it is not okay at all.

    ‘Annabel, leave this to Simon,’ orders my mother.

    ‘What on earth are you wearing?’ chimes in Alex, scathingly. I look down at the skirt.

    ‘It’s new,’ I say smiling broadly and point proudly to my sandals.

    ‘Okay, come on Simon. It really is no big deal,’ says another man, softly, whom I presume to be Simon’s father.

    ‘Of course it is a big deal, Edward. After all, she is terribly late,’ says his mother. What a bloody cheek. If the bride can’t be late for her wedding then who can be?

I smile at his mother and hiccup.

    ‘Christ, Bels,’ Alex snaps, running her hands protectively over her bump.

    ‘Sorry,’ I mumble.

Simon wags his finger at Christian.

    ‘I should have known it was you. Only you would be so selfish and irresponsible to get her here so late. I bet you did it on purpose. That is just the kind of thing you would do. You have both been drinking haven’t you? You’re disgusting.’

My God, do Simon and Christian know each other? I pray there will not be a fight as I really do not know whose side I will take. Simon moves closer to Christian and my breath catches in my throat.

    ‘You are an embarrassment,’ Alex hisses.

    ‘I am not,’ I say with as much force as I can muster, almost falling over in the process.

Suddenly, a young blonde woman flies past me and throws herself into Christian’s arms. I stare at Claudine mesmerised. I feel a sense of relief when I see she is not as pretty as her photograph.

    ‘Oh hello, are you, err?’ I say louder than I expected, while holding out my hand to her in an attempt to look sober.

    ‘Chris, where have you been? Why didn’t you answer my texts honey?’ she asks in a heavy Texan drawl and plonks a kiss on his cheeks, seemingly not at all perturbed when he gently pushes her away.
Chris
, why do I think I have heard the name before? I watch as Christian takes his room key.

    ‘Well, I’m shattered…’ he begins.

    Simons stands in front of him.

    ‘I am sick of your,
I don’t give a damn
attitude,’ he shouts, making me jump. ‘And when it interferes with my life it is something else.’

I wobble slightly and grab the desk for support. I attempt to step between Christian and Simon with all of the conviction of Jack Bauer. The minute I do it, I realise I must be crazy.

    ‘Simon, please calm down. I’m so sorry. It really is my fault…’ I say tapping him on the arm. He pushes it away roughly while Christian looks crossly at him.

    ‘Ah, come on Bels, don’t do that. Don’t start apologising when you haven’t done anything,’ he says softly.

    ‘Don’t you fucking call her Bels,’ yells Simon, ‘don’t you fucking dare.’

Oh my God, Simon is going all blue in the face. I look to my mother who is visibly cringing at the double dose of the ‘F’ word.

    ‘Simon, you’re my brother, but sometimes you are far too intense for me.’

Brother, brother. Oh shittity fuck. Of course, Chris, that Chris, the brother Simon did not want as his best man? ‘
Chris is
too laid back, I will never relax. Besides we have never been that close. I prefer if Jamie did it
.’ Shit, shit, shit. I am in love with my future brother-in-law.

    ‘I’m fucking intense? Have you dropped your legal shit yet, have you? And you are too bloody irresponsible. How dare you be so arrogant to think you could bring her here?’

    ‘Right, that is enough. I don’t know what you two are talking about but Simon, you’re going too far.’ I look at Simon’s father and realise there is a striking resemblance to Christian and my heart skips a beat.

    ‘It’s okay Dad,’ Christian says quietly.

Simon shakes his head.

    ‘I think you owe me an explanation Annabel. If there is something going on here you should tell me. Just exactly what have you been telling him?’

Everyone looks at me expectantly. I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out. Oh dear, was there something I told Christian that I shouldn’t have? Just what, exactly, was I not supposed to talk about? I feel sure I ought to know. I rack my brains and finally give Simon a puzzled look. He looks crestfallen, and I want the floor to open up and swallow me. I turn to Christian who is just looking at me.

    ‘Of course there isn’t anything going on,’ I say finally. ‘That’s silly. I’m here to get married to…’ I hesitate and spot the Marc Jacob jumper and point. ‘And I’m not interested in anyone else,’ I lie. ‘He just gave me a lift. We both missed the flight,’ I say, concentrating hard on the words, speaking slowly and as clearly as I can.

Christian shakes his head. His eyes are telling me something but I try hard not to look at them.

    ‘Christian, what’s going on baby?’ drawls Claudine, seemingly three sentences behind everyone else, and I thought I was drunk.

    ‘She’s not my type Simon, so get over it,’ Christian asserts.

I’m not?

    ‘And he is certainly not Annabel’s type,’ pipes up my mum. ‘She has had her fair share of men like that.’

I see Christian’s eyebrows rise.

    ‘Absolutely,’ I echo, feeling stupidly hurt by Christian’s words.

Christian marches towards the lift with Claudine running behind him leaving a trail of Poison fragrance in her wake.