Croissants and Jam (25 page)

    ‘I’ll leave them at reception for you.’

    ‘No, my dad will come and collect them this evening. He will give you my wedding ring, of course.

Oh this is so mean and horrible. I really cannot believe he is going to return the wedding ring I had bought him.

    ‘You can keep that,’ I say, attempting to be nice but realise I sound very condescending.

He laughs and says cynically,

    ‘And why would I want to do that? I never married you remember. I just thank God for that.’

I say goodbye and hang up, not wishing to be insulted anymore. I look at the ring for a short time and then take it off placing it carefully into an envelope I had found in the dressing table. I search for the bracelet in my travelling jewellery bag and pop that in too. I pull my laptop from its bag and Google
flats for rent in St John’s Wood
and yes, there is my flat. Good Lord, he has put the rent up already. I stare astonished at the new rate with a sinking heart. I was already paying more than I could afford but this is daylight robbery. Shit, shit, what a nuisance. I send the landlord an email making myself sound more sorrowful than I actually am, asking if I can continue with my lease. I think it best not to mention the increase in rent. I mean, perhaps he will take pity on me and let me continue with the same agreement. Dream on Bels. My fingers hover over the keys as I consider Googling Christian, not that I believe he is
that
well known in the building world. All that talk of bad publicity ruining business was just him showing off and trying to impress me. Of course, if that were the case he is not likely to be on Google is he? With that comforting thought, I type in his name and oh my God, he is all over Google, and there are even photos of him and lots of them too. My heart is beating so fast you would think I had just entered a hard-core porn site. I am stunned to see he is treated like a celebrity, talking of which, according to Google, he seems to know a lot of them. Oh Jesus, there are even photos of him winning awards and pictures of Olivia’s photo shoot. I click the ‘Connect with Christian Lloyd’ on Facebook and find myself staring at his profile. I hover over the request friendship link and then, with a deep sigh click the page shut. He is not interested in me, I remind myself. I must not forget that I am not his type. A small envelope symbol pops up on the screen and my gloom is lifted when I see Jake, the landlord, has replied already. I click into the email and wrinkle my eyes, too afraid to look. I see the first two lines and feel a surge of hope.

    ‘
Hi Bels, sorry to read of your bad news but hey, it happens all the time…
’

It does? Bloody hell, all those jilted men. I wonder if they all asked for their engagement ring back.

    ‘
I would be happy to have you in the flat. Better the devil you know.
’

Bloody cheek.

    ‘
Afraid the rent has gone up a bit, old gal.’

Bugger bugger.

    ‘But I can meet you halfway on the increase. Let me know. Cheers Jake
’

I can cope with that, just. I email back to say I will take it, and with a sense of relief I fall back onto the bed. But within seconds I am back on Google and looking at photos of Christian. I am still looking at them when Edward knocks on the door. I let him in shyly.

    ‘Hello, how are you bearing up?’ he asks kindly.

    ‘You asked me that a few hours ago. I never did get to fall over my dress.’ I attempt a smile.

He sits on the bed and produces the wedding ring from his pocket, carefully placing it on the bedspread without looking at me.

    ‘Sad state of affairs this. Still, better now than after you’ve been married five years, Italian divorce law is a legal nightmare you know.’

I nod and hand him the envelope which he pushes into his pocket.

    ‘Would you like a drink? There must be something in the mini bar here,’ I say pointing to the fridge.

He nods.

    ‘That sounds civilised, why not.’

I empty a small bottle of whisky into two glasses.

    ‘Not the best I wouldn’t imagine,’ I apologise, handing him a glass.

He points at me knowingly and smiles,

    ‘You should know.’

I bite my lip.

    ‘I actually bought you two bottles,’ I say feeling more confident with the whisky in me. ‘But Christian talked me into opening the other one.’

Edward laughs raucously.

    ‘He said it was a good whisky and one would be sufficient for you, of course, he didn’t actually know it was you,’ I say smiling.

    ‘That’s my boy,’ grins Edward.

    ‘Is he your favourite?’ I say swallowing more from my glass.

He clinks his glass against mine.

    ‘Ah, a parent never admits to having a favourite, but he is more like me so I relate to him better than I do Simon. He should have known better, opening that whisky when you were so close to Rome.’ He shakes his head, as though in despair, and finishes his drink.

    ‘Don’t go worrying about Simon. Better now, than five years into your marriage. These things happen. He’ll get over it.’

He sighs and stands up.

    ‘Thanks for the drink. I would love to stay for another one but we already have one bad boy in the family. You take care.’

He gently squeezes my shoulder. I exhale.

    ‘I didn’t realise Christian was so… well known.’

    ‘Yes, he has done well and fortunately he doesn’t take it too seriously. My influence I like to think.’

I lean forward to say goodbye and kiss him on the cheek. I close the door softly behind him. Poor Edward, he has no idea his sons are fighting over his law firm. How could they? But I can’t blame Simon. Kaz is quite right. I do let wide boys sway me. I seem to lose all sense of reason. Of all of them, Christian was the worst. What a fool. I’ve thrown away everything just because of a funny feeling in my stomach when the words croissants and jam were mentioned. Oh I feel so angry with myself. How could I let him make such a fool of me? Getting me drunk like that? Damn him to hell. What a rotten bastard to sue Simon. He is nothing but a cheating liar. To think I threw my marriage away because of him. That’s not strictly true. It wouldn’t have worked with Simon. All the same he would have made a decent husband, and there must be lots of women who marry good men. After all, not everyone can expect to find their soul mate. I pack the last bits into my suitcase and make a mental note to buy one of those
cooking for one
cook books at the airport.

Chapter Twenty

    Mother is devastated, Father resigned and Alex, well Alex is totally beside herself.

    ‘How can I ever wear that outfit again? It will always be my daughter’s non-wedding outfit I ask you, how embarrassing is that?’ says Mother bitterly.

    ‘Some people would be very happy to be embarrassed in a Stella McCartney outfit I would think,’ says my dad helpfully.

Both my mother and Alex give him a ‘you stupid man look’ while I tap him affectionately on the arm.

    ‘Well, I am so ashamed. I can’t look anyone in the eye,’ Alex moans, one hand lying protectively on her stomach.

    ‘Look at another part of their body then,’ suggests Dad, lifting my suitcase. I grab the hand luggage and walk to the door with him.

    ‘Honestly, Dad, you are insufferable. You are always on Bels’ side,’ complains Alex.

Dad looks at her over his glasses but says nothing.

    ‘You will feel guilty if Simon kills himself won’t you?’ Alex glares at me.

I stop in my tracks. Oh my God, is he suicidal?

    ‘He’s not talking suicide is he?’

    ‘Good Lord,’ gasps Dad.

We hover in the doorway. Alex looks sheepish.

    ‘No, but the fact he hasn’t mentioned it, surely means, he is more likely to do it,’ she says confidently.

Dad gives her a puzzled look.

    ‘I didn’t know that,’ he says nodding seriously.

Oh for God’s sake.

    ‘I really don’t think he is going to be suicidal over me. In fact, he has offered to take Kaz to the fashion show,’ I say in my defence.

I look at Alex and send a silent prayer to God, asking him please don’t ever let me be
this
hormonal if I ever get pregnant.

    ‘Don’t upset yourself darling, think of the baby,’ chips in my mum. As if Alex does anything else except think about her baby, her pregnancy and her bloody epidural. I feel like I am on epidural overload.

So here we are, or at least here I am, sitting in the hotel lounge with my parents and sister, trying to think of an excuse to leave and sort my life out. It had occurred to me to try and contact Christian. There isn’t anything illegal in that but I finally decide against it. I feel sure that if he wanted to get in touch with me, he would. The last thing I need to do is make a bigger fool of myself than I already have done. Edward had phoned to say goodbye, but there had been no word from Rosa. In six hours I will be back home in my own flat. I had booked a week off for the honeymoon and have decided to go to a spa in Milton Keynes for a few days and spend the voucher Mum and Dad gave me for Christmas. I thought I would go shopping while there. Not that I have ever been to Milton Keynes mind you, or even fancied it to tell you the truth, but the name sounds cool.

    ‘I had better go and pack,’ says Alex with a tone of finality and a peck on my cheek.

    ‘I have no idea what to tell them at the WI. I mean, they are expecting photos and everything. I told them about my Stella McCartney dress and your designer wedding gown. Oh, it is just too embarrassing. It wouldn’t sound so bad if he had jilted you,’ says Mother, wringing her hands.

I stare at her.

    ‘Wow, thanks Mum,’ I say finally.

It comes to something when your mother is more worried about the Women’s Institute than she is about you.

    ‘Well, you didn’t think about any of us when you jilted Simon,’ she admonishes.

I try not to sigh. I kiss Kaz and Mum goodbye and hug my dad before climbing into the waiting taxi. At last, I am on my way home. Once at the airport I relax. I check the flight board and then sit in the departure lounge. I stupidly expect Christian to walk in, but of course, he doesn’t. I board my flight on time, find my seat and fiddle with the in-flight magazine.

    ‘Good Lord,’ exclaims a voice that I can’t quite place. I look up to see the beaming round face of Kevin, the businessman from the London to Rome flight. I find myself staring at him and then look around suspiciously as though expecting Jeremy Beadle to jump out of the cockpit.

    ‘Wow, this is uncanny,’ I say eventually.

    ‘Did you get married?’ he asks bluntly, looking pointedly at the empty seat beside me.

I shake my head.

    ‘I heard about a big wedding upset back at the hotel. I did wonder if it was you.’

Oh great, I am big news.

    ‘Perhaps I’ll be in the hotel newsletter,’ I say cynically.

He taps me on the knee.

    ‘I’ll buy you a drink after we have taken off.’

Of course, I end up totally opening my heart to him and in return, Kevin gives me what I can only term the worst advice ever.

    ‘It sounds like that landlord is ripping you off for a start,’ he says knowledgeably, nodding his head. ‘I know a thing or two about the rental business you know.’

Ripping me off? Well, I guess on reflection he is taking advantage of my situation. But, I explain to Kevin, I have nowhere else to go and that another flat may well cost me more.

    ‘He has you by your balls then, if you’ll pardon my French.’

I pull a face in agreement.

    ‘Trust me on this. You need to move back to your parents. That’s the best thing,’ he assures me with a wink of his eye.

Good God, no one could possibly call that good advice. How can I possibly live with my mother? I would commit matricide in less than a week, well maybe a month, but I would most certainly kill the bloody dog before a week was out. I’d be drinking strange tea, meditating and watching re-runs of
Strictly Come Dancing
. God I would rather slit my throat.

    ‘Also, when it comes to relationships I have a sixth sense, it’s as clear as day to me. You want to cut all ties with that family of Simon’s and you don’t want to see that Christian ever again.’

I don’t? That seems a bit drastic.

    ‘Give up your job and make a new start, be a secretary or something. That’s the way forward for you my dear.’

Be a secretary? Jesus, don’t you need to type with all your fingers for a job like that? The only thing that walks across a keyboard when I type is my right and left index finger. Of course, he doesn’t buy me a drink. Instead, he sleeps the best part of the journey, mostly on my shoulder and what’s more, he not only snored but dribbled as well. My French supermarket top is very wet by the time we arrive in London. Oh, but what a wonderful sight is a British airport. Kevin helps me with my luggage and even offers to share a taxi with me. I refuse politely. As nice as Kevin is, I really don’t want too many reminders of my trip. I collect the key from the landlord and make my way to my flat, almost crying at the sight of it. So here we are, or at least here I am, back in my London pad. Thirty years old and still single, and the prospect of carrying red roses and paperback copies of
Pride and Prejudice
looking more likely by the minute. I glance at my wedding finger, now devoid of a ring and wonder if Simon really will return it to the jeweller. I am suddenly very aware of my age and the fact that my body clock is ticking like a time bomb. I lug my suitcase into the bedroom and dump it on the bed and sit beside it. Right, the fridge will be empty, as will all the cupboards. Oh dear, this really is like starting all over again. I take a deep breath, grab my handbag and head to Waitrose, without a bloody Clubcard thank God.

Chapter Twenty-One