Authors: Mandy Baggot
Twenty Four
At 5.00pm Team Finger Food were gathered in one of the conference rooms of the La Manga Resort
hotel along with approximately one
hundred other people. Everyone had name badges that also designated their role in the proceedings. George was stood next to ‘Paco’ who was apparently in charge of tablecloths.
‘Ladies and Gentlemen, my name is Pixie Dean. I’m the wedding coordinator and I would like to welcome all of you to La Manga Resort and to the wedding of Quinn Blake and Taylor Ferraro,’ Pixie spoke into the microphone.
She was wearing an e
merald green trilby hat, a high-
necked white blouse, green figure hugging shorts, white tights and black patent leather peep
-
toe shoes. She was completely how George had envisaged her, during their phone conversations. She looked like an over fashioned, ridiculously organised leprechaun.
‘Now, before I run through the itinerary for the coming week
, let me introduce the principal
characters in this romantic fairytale. Firstly, the bride herself, please welcome Miss Taylor Ferraro,’ Pixie squeaked excitedly.
George held her breath as Taylor came onto the stage, a picture of poise and elegance, dressed in a simple cream shift dress that showed off a newly acquired tan.
‘Hello Taylor. Are you nervous?’ Pixie questioned sticking the microphone in the actress’ face and grinning like an overzealous game-show host.
‘A little,’ she replied, managing a coy smile.
‘OK, let’s introduce your Prince Charming. Please welcome, the adorable, the sexy, the multi-talented Quinn Blake,’ Pixie continued.
Quinn walked onto the stage looking as handsome and devastatingly gorgeous as usual. He was wearing a white shirt that laced up at the front, jeans and Havaianas. George bit her lip as she looked at him. So many feelings ran through her, so many thoughts. The time they’d spent skin on skin, the drinks on the roof of
the Hexagon
, the beautiful Spanish restaurant. And here they were. Him on the stage, her just part of the group there to ensure the wedding ran like clockwork.
‘Oh.
My.
God. Will you look at him?’ Marisa whispered.
‘Hello Quinn,’ Pixie said, moving herself up to him and looking like a star
-
struck child.
‘Hello,’ Quinn answered.
‘Looking forward to the big day?’ Pixie enquired.
‘Of course. Everyone here is in for a treat. The castle is amazing and the after party is going to go on for days,’ Quinn told the crowd.
‘And the getting married part?’ Pixie asked.
The majority of the group let out a chuckle of amusement. George, on the other hand, was scrunching up a handful of her skirt, making her knuckles turn white.
‘Can’t wait,’ Quinn replied, looking at Taylor.
George looked at the floor as her heart hit it. This was horrible. What was she doing here? It was nothing short of torture. He’d sounded so convincing. He had looked at Taylor like he looked at her. What was the truth? Could she really believe what he told her when they were together?
‘Ah
, so cute! OK, next we have the father of the bride; let’s hear it for the head of Rock It Music, Roger Ferraro!’ Pixie exclaimed.
A very tall, broad man with wavy jet black hair and an olive complexion bounded onto the stage and waved to the crowd. He was dressed in a dark suit, under which was a burgundy roll
-
neck jumper. It seemed a little inappropriate given the stifling heat.
George looked at Quinn and watched him move closer to Taylor and away from Roger as he joined Pixie.
‘Well hello Daddy-O!’ Pixie greeted as Roger kissed her on both cheeks.
‘Hello Pixie. Hi everyone. I’m Roger, I’m Taylor’s father and I can’t tell you how excited I am about the wedding. Quinn’s been like a son to me ever since we met and I just know he’s going to make my little princess so happy,’ Roger said, looking at Taylor, whose lip visibly quivered at her father’s words.
Quinn looked exceedingly uncomfortable now Roger was on stage. He kept shifting about on the spot, wringing his hands together. George also noticed he was sweating. Although it was hot outside, the whole hotel seemed to be permanently air conditioned. It wasn’t like he was wearing a roll neck jumper, like Roger. There was no physical reason for perspiration.
Next on stage were Carleen and Saffron, Taylor’s Sindy doll bridesmaids, followed by best man Belch who sang his introduction with a guitar accompaniment. Finally Michael burst into the limelight. He was wearing a pale grey linen suit with a sequined silver shirt underneath.
‘Saving the best ‘til last Pixie weren’t you? Well folks, I am Michael. I am Quinn’s personal assistant, amongst other things and if you have any questions about anything at all then I am your man. No matter is too trivial. If you need your water cooling by a couple of degrees or if you prefer your bed sheets to be rubber rather than linen, then I will make the necessary arrangements,’ Michael told the crowd.
The audience clapped for Michael and he bowed like an over excited seal who had just balanced a ball on his nose for a crowd of children.
George looked back to Quinn and saw he was looking very red in the face and was holding his head as if in pain. Taylor had a vice like grip on his arm and looked like she was telling him to perk up and fast.
Michael and Pixie formed a double act then and began to tell the teams of staff the itinerary for the week’s events and what they would be expected to do.
Suddenly Taylor let out a blood
-
curdling scream and George looked on in horror as Quinn collapsed on the floor.
The crowd let out a collective gasp as Roger hurriedly bent down to assist.
‘Oh God, oh God, is he like OK? He isn’t dead is he?’ Marisa questioned her mouth hanging open in shock.
‘Maybe we should help,’ Adam suggested as everyone stood dumbstruck not knowing what to do.
‘Do you know First Aid? I mean someone here must know First Aid. I did a course when I was a Brown O
wl but that was years ago and...
’ Helen began.
‘Shut up Mother! He needs more than a sling and a leg splint, he’s like unconscious!’ Marisa exclaimed.
‘I don’t know CPR or anything but we’re all here looking and someone ought to do something,’ Adam said.
George’s heart was in her mouth. She wanted to run up to the front but her legs were like lumps of concrete. All she could do was watch.
‘Michael, call Nigel at once,’ Roger ordered, propping Quinn into the recovery position.
‘Yes, of course. Don’t worry everyone; I’m sure it’s just the heat. Perhaps we should adjourn? Pixie? Shall we adjourn do you think?’ Michael suggested, getting his mobile from his pocket.
‘Oh.
My.
God. It’s serious. He isn’t moving, oh God,’ Marisa said, trying to outmanoeuvre people in front of her for a better view.
‘Well, he’s been put in the recovery position, so I think that means he’s breathing,’ Helen informed the group.
‘I’m sure he’s just passed out or something, it’s been so hot today,’ Adam said and he put an arm around Marisa’s shoulders.
George was shaking and she couldn’t stop it. She was worried about him. He had gone from looking crimson and hot to pale and lifeless in a matter of minutes. Roger was lifting him up now, aided by the black man who had delivered the room key and the VIP passes to George back in England. She didn’t even know his name, that’s how involved she was in this scenario. They were exiting stage right and heading out of the room.
‘Oh, where are they taking him? How will we know if he’s alright?’ Marisa questioned not noticing the weight of Adam’s arm around her.
George watched Taylor. Having recovered from her scream of shock when Quinn fell to the floor, she was now taking the whole situation in her stride. She was calmly telling people at the front not to worry, ‘the heat did affect Quinn sometimes’ and her father’s physician would make sure he was taken care of. George was still trembling, yet there was no flicker of emotion on Taylor’s face. It was almost like she didn’t care.
‘Are you OK?’ Helen asked, putting her hand on George’s arm.
George looked at her
blankly
.
‘You look very pale,’ Helen remarked.
‘Oh, no, I’m fine. We should go,’ George said, noticing other people were beginning to leave as Pixie desperately tried to hand out sheets of information.
‘I’ll go and get an information sheet, make sure we don’t miss out on anything,’ Adam said, letting go of Marisa and heading towards Pixie.
‘What d’you think’s wrong with him?’ Marisa enquired of Helen and George.
‘It was probably just the heat; the heat does funny things to people. That’s why I’m always nagging you to wear sunscreen and put a hat on. It’s UVAs and SPFs all the way from now on,’ Helen told her daughter.
Michael was about to bustle past them but George hurriedly caught hold of his arm and brought him to a halt.
‘Michael, sorry to bother you. I - er - just wondered - is Quinn OK?’ George said, trying to hide the concern in her voice.
‘George, darling, how lovely to see you. Yes, yes, Quinn’s just fine. Just a touch of heatstroke I think. You try and tell these youngsters to cover up and not stay out too long but will they listen? Living in LA you would think they would know by now,’ Michael gabbled, smiling widely.
‘See Marisa, I told you, heatstroke,’ Helen reassured.
‘OK, well, that’s good,’ George said.
She was saying what she was expected to say but the truth was she didn’t believe a word of it.
‘So nothing to worry about, everything is still on course for the big day. Everything OK with your accommodation? Anything you need?’ Michael asked George.
‘No, everything’s fine,’ she replied, looking at Taylor who was checking out the condition of her nails.
‘Good, good. Right, much to do. I’ll give you a call to catch up on progress tomorrow,’ Michael said hurriedly.
George watched him head over to a security guard at the door and begin speaking. The smile had left his mouth now and there was deep concern in his eyes. This wasn’t heatstroke or dehydration; this was something much more serious.
‘Looks like we’re meeting our catering team tomorrow morning,’ Adam informed, waving the sheet of paper in the air.
‘Great, I’ve already thought of all the crappy jobs I can get them to do for me,’ Marisa said, grinning.
‘Come on Marisa, you’re going to love taking the skin and pith off the citrus fruits and you know it,’ Adam joked.
‘That is
sooo
your job,’ Marisa replied.
‘Hey, how about we go into town and get some food? Local food, like omelettes or paella or something,’ Adam suggested.
‘Yes please, I’m starving!’ Marisa agreed.
‘What do you think George? Shall we go into town?’ Helen asked her.
‘Yeah, sure, that sounds good,’ George replied, averting her eyes from Michael and the security guard.
‘Right, well let’s go and get the Jeep. I can’t believe you hired a Jeep George
,
it’s so cool. Can I drive?’ Adam asked.
‘Sure, why not?’ George answered.
Twenty Five
When he came to he was laid on a chaise longue with Dr Nigel Collins
peering at him through his half-
moon glasses. He tried to sit up but was rapidly pushed back down again and a glass of water was summoned.
‘What happened?’ Quinn asked the doctor.
‘One of your attacks. I thought these new pills were keeping things under control! I mean
,
right in the middle of the introductions!’ Roger boomed with a snort.
‘You were out for almost ten minutes,’ Dr Colli
ns informed Quinn, handing him the
glass of water.
Quinn propped himself up and took a drink. His head was aching and his vision was blurred. He’d seen George looking like she wanted to smash his face in when he’d given his upbeat announcement about the wedding festivities. He’d wanted it all to be over so he didn’t have to stand in line with Pixie, Roger and Taylor, like some sort of weird barber shop quartet. The black cloud had descended over him, strangling his brain and tightening his chest and the last thing he remembered seeing was the mad Welsh girl flapping her hands about.
George hadn’t eaten. She had ordered a Spanish omelette, but had just pushed it around her plate pretending that constituted eating.