Croissants and Jam (7 page)

    ‘Right, the Lemon needs some juice.’ He glances quickly at me. ‘And you, well you need everything don’t you?’

If I hadn’t been so thirsty I would have protested that I just wanted to go straight to Rome. Instead, I meekly nod. Hopefully there will be some clothes shops. The thought of buying some nice designer clothes cheers me up.

    ‘Okay, I shall veer off at the next slip road and see where it takes us. We are not likely to get lost, right? All roads lead to Rome after all,’ he laughs.

I respond with a dirty look.

    ‘God, you are one sour woman,’ he laughs again.

I bite my lip. Now is not the right time but the time will come and when it does, oh, I will relish it.

Chapter Six

Christian

    What a bonus. The car is a gem, an absolute classic. I practically robbed the guy. Of course, it needs a good overhaul and the clutch is knackered, but all the same it drives like a dream considering. Not that madam appreciates it, of course. Jesus, she never stops complaining, and her language is atrocious. She certainly wouldn’t be out of place on a construction site. In fact, I actually thought I was getting rid of her at one point when she stated she couldn’t possibly arrive in Rome in my so-called rust bucket. What a blooming cheek. There was one highlight, when she said she couldn’t possibly get into it. There was me thinking I had finally got rid of her when she goes and changes her mind again. Oh well, she is a diversion, albeit an irritating one. I glance at her to see if she is reading the map but surprise, surprise, she isn’t. She has that glazed look on her face again. A little friendly jolt is in order then.

    ‘Okay, I can see a sign for the A39. I think we can relax once we are on that.’

    ‘I can’t have a baby yet.’

What the hell? Who mentioned babies? Who even mentioned sex? Surely that comes before babies doesn’t it? My God, she isn’t going to scream rape is she? Oh hell, this is all I need. I knew she was a bit dotty but I didn’t for one minute seriously think she was completely and utterly mad. Keep calm. The best thing is to humour her.

    ‘What? How did we get from the A39 to a baby? Did I miss something?’

Like you screaming the word rape? And demanding money? But no, instead her face crumples and she blurts out that she has left her handbag at the airport with her contraceptive pill inside. I mean, is this really my problem? She then promptly bursts into tears. It’s my problem. I’m beginning to think a Polar Icecap expedition would be easier than travelling to Rome with her. In fact, I actually think I would enjoy it. At least I could be sure of getting there. I really cannot bring myself to talk to her
on the journey back to the airport and thankfully she manages to keep her mouth shut, although not for long unfortunately. I am relieved when she climbs back into the Lemon armed with the said handbag, and with, I assume, her pills safely ensconced inside. Everything would have been fine had she not opened that offensive mouth of hers. After fiddling with her phone she accuses me of destroying her life and insults the Lemon, calling it ‘a sodding stupid antique car’. I fight the overwhelming desire to put my hands around her throat and bite back a stinging retort. I’m beginning to think a job as Colonel Gaddafi’s chauffeur would be a walk in the park compared to chauffeuring Madam
Kiss-my-arse-I-think-I’m-Victoria-Beckham
. What an ungrateful cow. If that ring on her finger is anything to go by then some guy has actually chosen to be with her. He has obviously had a lobotomy at some point. He must be a bit of a strange guy though, because he hasn’t phoned her once. I bet an evening with them is a bundle of laughs. Well, seeing as we are late now we may as well stop off for something to eat. That won’t please her. I ought to phone Claudine. Women. They are all the same, a pain in the jacksie.

Chapter Seven

    It is almost twenty minutes before we see any shops and in that whole time Simon
does not phone or text. I feel a churning in my stomach. I just can’t understand it.    

    ‘Hey, I can see what looks like a very big supermarket, which means there has to be a garage nearby,’ says Christian the builder.

I let out a sigh of relief. Please God, let there be some decent shops here. Since our encounter with the police I have barely spoken to him. My thoughts have been focused on Simon and the wedding. I feel sure if I don’t marry him, I probably won’t marry anyone now. I keep trying to picture Simon with children, but it just doesn’t happen. The only picture I get is of him in big business meetings and fancy lunches. I do want children don’t I? Christ, I am driving myself mad with all this thinking. Of course I want children, why am I even asking myself such a stupid question? As long as I don’t end up like my friend Maz. I mean, she was normal until she had kids and now she sits at dinner parties like a zombie and only seems to come alive when nappies or milk formulas are mentioned. Worse of all though is how a phone conversation with her is interspersed with sentences like. ‘Shake little pee wee, that’s a good boy.’ Or ‘Mummy is just talking to that nice Belsey Welsey,’ which makes me sound like a face-dropping disease or something. I don’t want to end up like that. Not with a face-dropping disease, I don’t mean, obviously. But talking like a retard to my children.

I check the time on my mobile and want to cry. I have missed the dinner for sure. How the hell do I explain Christian the builder as well? What if they all think there is more to it? Oh shit. After all, it is a bit unusual to travel across the country with someone I hardly know. Simon’s parents will think I have no morals and certainly won’t consider me good enough for their son, with his soon-to-be own business. The problem is I have no other sodding way of getting to Rome.

    ‘Are you coming? Here you had better wear this,’ he says casually and pulls a jacket from his hand luggage. I take it cautiously.

    ‘It’s fine, I got all the fleas off,’ he jokes as I wrinkle my nose.

I wrap the jacket around me, grateful for its warmth. The soft smell of an aftershave I can’t quite place soothes me. I find it hard to thank him so just nod. He locks the Lemon and strokes the roof lovingly.

    ‘Jesus,’ I mumble.

    ‘You called,’ he laughs, walking ahead of me.

Arrogant bugger and to think for just a minute I almost liked him. Ahead of us is the entrance to a large supermarket and an underground mall. I make a mental note of all the things I need and pray there are some decent designer shops. As we enter the market my Blackberry shrills. It is Simon. I answer it and watch as Christian the builder walks ahead of me into the store. He chats to an assistant and seems to point downstairs.

    ‘Oh darling, thank God you phoned,’ I say, pleased to hear Simon’s voice.

    ‘Annabel, where are you? Your flight will be landing soon but evidently you are not on it unless the rule regarding phones on planes has changed.’

Oh God, he is very angry. Well, I can’t blame him. Christian is holding up the most obnoxious blouse and nodding at me. I shake my head and pull a face.

    ‘Annabel, are you there?’ fumes Simon.

Why does he always have to sound like my father? Why can’t he call me Bels like all my friends? How many times do I have to tell him that only my father calls me
Annabel
? I turn my back on Christian the builder and try to picture Simon. You know, Simon on a good day, when he is very loving, sweet and kind. I remember the Cadbury’s Fruit and Nut in my handbag and break off a piece which I eagerly devour. I feel my blood sugar level rise and run a finger over my pimple.

    ‘I am so sorry Simon. Didn’t you get my text? There was an emergency landing and then I had an accident at the airport. When I came back from the loo the flight had taken off. They left much earlier than they had told us…’

    ‘I just don’t want Mum and Dad to think you are badly organised. You certainly didn’t make it for dinner, now did you?’ I hear the resignation in his voice and feel awful.

I turn back to see Christian, who is now holding up an even more obnoxious yellow dress and posing with it. I shake my head and bite my lip to stop myself from laughing.

    ‘No, I…’

    ‘Well, where are you? Are you even
trying
to get here?’ barks Simon.

No, Simon, you stupid arse. Of course I am not trying to get there, what a silly question and why the hell won’t he let me speak for goodness sake?

    ‘Yes, of course I am, I…’

    ‘Well, what flight are you on so I can look for it?’ he interrupts yet again.

Christian is holding what looks like a bottle of sangria to his lips and miming, ‘Yes, oh yes.’

Bloody hell yes indeed. I could drink the whole sodding bottle. I nod frantically. Christ, what am I doing? Come on Bels, tell Simon right now that Christian is bringing you in the car. Tell the truth and shame the devil.

    ‘That’s the problem, Simon. I couldn’t get another flight and…’

    ‘What?’ I move the phone from my ear, best to get married without a burst eardrum. I feel totally exhausted by everything and am really not sure I can take this shouting from Simon for much longer. Christian is holding up drinking glasses now and nodding. I nod back.

    ‘How the hell are you getting here Annabel, and when exactly are you getting here?’ fumes Simon whom I can now picture frantically stretching his neck. Oh dear, he won’t like this.

    ‘Well, this…erm, couple, a middle-aged couple, also missed the flight and they have hired a car and I am coming with them,’ I lie.

Bugger, not good. Why didn’t I just tell him the truth? Because, you are totally out of order Bels and you know it. Three days before your wedding and you are travelling across France with another man who you know you find attractive, even if he is a pain-in-the-arse wanker with a penchant for extravagance. Oh dear, of all the times to be attracted to someone, I have to do it three days before my wedding. There is silence for a second and I hold my breath. After what I imagine is much neck stretching he speaks.

    ‘So, you won’t be here until tomorrow then?’ I hear the disappointment in his voice.

    ‘I won’t? I thought it was only about six hours away,’ I say stupidly.

    ‘Fourteen more like. I guess you will all have to stay overnight somewhere. This is a bad start to our future together…’

Fourteen hours? The bastard lied to me and I can’t even tell Simon that the bastard lied to me because Simon does not know I am with the bastard. What a mess.

    ‘Oh Simon, don’t say that,’ I jump in quickly, ignoring the fact that I have also lied to the man who will be my husband in a few days. ‘I love you, and I will be there soon. How is your neck?’ I finish tenderly. Not that there is anything remotely wrong with his neck you understand. Even a small disagreement with a colleague at work can result in Deep Heat or Bio Freeze being liberally slapped on to ease the tension. I have spent many a happy hour lighting fragranced candles to dispel the pungent smell of them. But, these are the things you do for love aren’t they? I have even bought him with of those pain killing machines, you know, a nines machine, or is it a Tens machine? Anyway, I thought to buy one for him for Christmas. Of course, if the neck pain gets much worse I may have to let him have it earlier. Kaz said you can use them for labour pains apparently, so it will be useful all round. Shit, what am I doing thinking about Tens machines at a time like this?

    ‘Sore, all this tension you see,’ he says miserably.

    ‘Yes I know, try to relax.’

Stay overnight? Oh bugger, there is no way I can do that. We will have to drive through the night. And I do love Simon and he will be my perfect husband because like Mum said, he is Mr Right.

    ‘Oh Simon,’ I add quickly. ‘Will you collect my luggage? It is a real pain having to ask.’

His voice softens.

    ‘Of course, and I am sorry honey, I just want to see you. I miss you.’

Oh God, why is the guilt punching me so hard. I have not done anything wrong, have I, except try to get to my fiancé, in time for my wedding? I watch as Christian pulls the Marc Jacob jumper over his head, ruffling his already messy hair and then pulls on a black fleece. I smile as he appraises himself in a mirror and then turns in the manner of a model, and grins at me while raising his eyebrows and nodding. I shrug and shake my head. The guy is nuts. He throws it into the trolley. Jesus, Mr Extravagance or what?

    ‘I can’t wait to see you too,’ I respond. ‘I’d better go Simon, we are at a service station and they are ready to set off again.’

Oh God, another lie and another pimple on my tongue.

    ‘Okay, I love you darling, see you soon.’ I hear him blow a kiss and attempt to do the same but it doesn't quite work.

I am relieved the phone call is now over, and feel guilty as hell. I reach Christian as he is throwing underpants into the trolley. I look at the clothes and grimace. Jesus, surely he is not intending to wear these things.

    ‘I am going to look at the other shops,’ I say stretching my arms and letting the jacket drop.

He throws socks into the trolley and grins.

    ‘I wouldn’t bother.’

I stop in my tracks.

    ‘Why shouldn’t I bother?’ I ask, really not wanting to hear the answer.

    ‘Well, you can bother. I guess it depends whether your plan was to buy designer clothes or get your hair cut, or indeed have a back massage. Of course if it is great sex you want, then down there,’ he points with his thumb, ‘is the best place, oh yes indeed,’ he finishes.

I feel myself blush.

    ‘You really are an obnoxious person, do you know that?’ I say, grabbing a top and holding it against me, God, it is gross.

    ‘I am just telling you. Is it my fault the ground floor has sex shops and massage parlours? That looks good on you by the way, you should get that.’