Authors: Mandy Baggot
‘No, we don’t have to go yet,’ Quinn told her.
‘I’ve gone and told you everything there is to know about me tonight. It’s all Maria’s fault. Her and her tragic life. Why did you bring me here?’ George asked with a half
-
hearted smile.
‘I wanted you to see it. I wanted you to be moved by the music. This opera - well the score for the opera, I wrote it,’ Quinn informed her.
‘What!’ George exclaimed amazed.
‘I wrote it under another name. I didn’t think it went with the image Roger’s made for me. But it was just something I wanted to do,’ Quinn told her.
‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’ George asked him.
‘Because I didn’t know whether you would like it. I had no idea it was going to move you to tears and make you tell me all your secrets,’ Quinn said with a smile.
‘I wish you would tell me yours,’ George spoke.
‘I wish that too,’ Quinn answered, holding her hand.
It was late when he got back to the villa, the early hours. Michael was asleep on the sofa, his mouth hanging open, snoring like a walrus, an empty bottle of Fanta hanging out of his hand. This guy did fizzy drinks like a junkie did crystal meth. Quinn closed the door and went back into the kitchen.
George had a son. How did that make him feel? He’d told her it didn’t change things, but did it? He hated the sound of this Paul. The necklace she always wore and played with was obviously something to do with him. All these years and she was still wearing it like a constant reminder. He was jealous! Shit! He was jealous of a sixteen year old! What right did he have for jealousy? He was the one getting married. He needed to man up! He needed to get control back. He’d almost told her everything about him and Roger tonight. He couldn’t do that. Not ever. If he did, he was finished.
Twenty Nine
‘What time did she get in?’
‘I don’t know exactly. Probably around
three
.’
‘
Three
! She
sooo
slept with him then.’
‘We don’t know that. I mean she was dressed up. They probably went to an exclusive club or something.’
‘No. She slept with him for sure. Have you seen the bling on her wrist?’
‘No. What bling?’
‘Oh.
My.
God! Like the handmade gold and platinum watch encrusted with diamonds. Posh Spice had one on in
Star Life
magazine the other week.’
‘So he must be rich.’
‘He must be bloody loaded. I’m still not convinced it isn’t Eddie the drummer.’
‘I don’t think it’s him. He isn’t George’s type at all.’
‘Has she got a type? Apart from having the absolute agony of hearing her flirt with Simon from the bakery, I’ve never seen her with anyone, or heard her talk about anyone.’
‘She’s a private person that’s all.’
‘Either that or she doesn’t have a life outside of Finger Food. I can’t believe you didn’t get a name out of her.’
‘Come on. I couldn’t have interrogated her all the way to Murcia.’
‘Why not? I would of.’
‘You’re one scary lady when you want to know something.’
‘Hello?! Is anyone listening to me?’ George yelled at the top of her voice.
They had been in the catering wagon since just after 9.00am and she couldn’t cope with the amount of people in the small space. The extra numbers to ‘help’ were doing the exact opposite and no one could hear anything, because the radio one of them had brought along was
at
full volume, screeching out an irritating pop song, in Spanish.
Everyone heard George now, and someone realised it might be appropriate if the radio was turned down.
‘Right, good. Finally, some attention! OK, now listen up. Ever heard of the expression ‘too many cooks spoil the broth?’ Well, my broth is in danger of being spoiled. Go! Come back to the castle tonight to help serve,’ George ordered.
No one said anything, no one moved; everyone just stayed still and looked at their leader, waiting to hang on her next words.
‘Didn’t you understand what I said? I can’t work like this. I can’t move, I can’t hear. There are too many people and you need to leave,’ George ordered for a second time.
‘That means go!’ Marisa screeched out at the very top of her voice.
‘Look, I don’t mean to be ungrateful. But this many people to help prepare canapés for a hundred people isn’t necessary. I do this all the time, with a team of two. Have the rest of the day off, I’ll make sure you still get paid,’ George told them.
At the mention of still getting paid, the enthusiasm for leaving increased substantially and people began to head for the door as fast as they could. Within a couple of minutes, everyone had departed and only the Finger Food team remained.
‘God, I thought my head was going to explode. We cannot have all of them in the kitchen like that ever again. Not even on Saturday. We’re going to have to load the trolleys, bump them down the ramp, and have them outside ready for them to wheel up to the castle,’ George spoke.
‘I have to admit it was getting a bit whiffy in here,’ Helen said, cutting up avocados.
‘God, yeah
,
it was.
E
specially when you were stood near the one with the crusty face. Although it definitely wasn’t his face that reeked. His top had at least three day old sweat stains on it,’ Marisa added.
‘Oh Marisa! That’s enough! And since when have you been the leading authority on sweat stains?’ Helen enquired.
‘Since they did a deodorant versus mint and tea tree oil lotion test in
Right Now
magazine,’ Marisa answered, folding her arms across her chest and looking authoritative.
There were three theatrical raps on the door and then it burst open. Michael hopped into the wagon, beaming from ear to ear, a clipboard in his hands, his forehead glistening with sweat.
‘Think he needs some tea tree lotion on that forehead,’ Adam whispered to Marisa.
She giggled and popped another tablet of gum into her mouth.
‘Good morning Team Finger Food! And how are we all today?’ Michael greeted buoyantly.
‘Fine. Now George has got rid of the hired help. They all smell and most of them can’t even shell an egg,’ Marisa told him.
‘Oh George, is this true? Are they not up to standard? Shall I hire more?’ Michael asked her.
‘No! No more please. We’re fine. Everything’s fine, now we’ve sorted out the overcrowding,’ George insisted.
‘Good, good. So everything on course? Canapés being prepared for both parties?’ Michael asked, looking around the room.
‘
Both
parties?’ George asked.
‘Yes, the bachelor and the bachelorette. Did you not get my revised instructions? They should have been delivered to your villa yesterday,’ Michael said, checking notes on his clipboard.
‘No, I didn’t. You want me to cater for the bachelor party too?’
‘Yes, desperately! They were supposed to be going to a casino in town, but Taylor thought it would be nice to have both parties together, at the castle. So we will need food,’ Michael explained.
‘Vegetarian?’ George queried.
‘No! Good Lord no! Not for the men. I can’t imagine Quinn being happy with that.’
‘Then we have a problem. Taylor’s having vegetarian, that’s all the ingredients I have.’
‘Oh. Oh dear. That isn’t good. That isn’t good at all. I’ll give the suppliers a call,’ Michael said his usual happy demeanour slipping as he got out his phone.
‘Who has their hen and stag parties together? I mean where do you all look when the strippers arrive?’ Marisa wanted to know.
‘Don’t ask me. I’m hoping there won’t be any. Naked body parts near the avocado and walnut dip doesn’t bear thinking about,’ Helen replied.
‘I don’t know,’ Adam answered with a grin.
‘Mother! Like how old are you? Everyone likes a good stripper. I remember Cheryl’s eighteenth. She got her top off, covered herself in squirty cream and got Big Brian to lick it off her,’ Marisa informed.
‘What a girl,’ George answered, turning back to the filling she was perfecting.
‘It was the working men’s club,’ Marisa replied.
‘They’re used to worse on a Saturday night,’ Helen added.
‘There’s loads of chicken and stuff in the fridge,’ Adam remarked, sticking his head out from behind the door.
‘Yes I know that. But it’s all for Saturday. We can’t use any of it, some of it was allegedly flown in from Sweden,’ George replied.
‘OK, not so good news. It seems I can’t get any supplies delivered until tomorrow which is obviously
...
’ Michael began as he came off the telephone.
‘Like a day too late,’ Marisa interrupted.
‘Yes, so I suppose...
’
‘Well, I guess I’ll have to go to the local supermarket and see what they have,’ George spoke, wiping her hands on a tea towel.
‘Oh would you? That would get me out of a sticky situation. Just do the best you can with what they have,’ Michael suggested.
‘I hope they like chorizo,’ George said, taking off her apron and approaching the sink to wash her hands.
‘I’ll get someone to drive you and to carry your bags. Put everything on your invoice, plus your inconvenience fee,’ Michael said.
‘Don’t worry, I will,’ George replied.
Just over half an hour later a Jeep pulled up alongside George. Quinn was in the driving seat, grinning over at her.
‘Dennis tells me he’s been detailed to take you to the supermarket and carry your bags,’ he called, removing his sunglasses.
‘That’s right. No one told me I was catering for the bachelor party and apparently you can’t go a night without meat,’ George replied, looking over her shoulder to see who might be watching.
‘Hop in then,’ Quinn said, leaning over and opening the passenger door.
‘What?’
‘I gave Dennis something else to do. And you said last night you wanted us to go shopping together. Problem solved,’ Quinn told her.
‘Quinn, I didn’t mean
...
’ George began.
‘Yes you did. Come on, get in before we get a crew from Channel Nine following us,’ he ordered.
‘I’m not sure this is such a good idea. There are paparazzi in town and there’s another group by the entrance, I’ve seen them myself today. They’re photographing anything that moves and most things that don’t,’ George told him as she got in and they pulled away.
‘Yeah, I know. So what? I’m taking the caterer to the supermarket; it’s my wedding, if I want to be more hands on what’s wrong with that?’ Quinn asked her.
‘Let’s just not get caught with our hands anywhere they shouldn’t be,’ George answered.
‘Where’s that sense of adventure gone?’ Quinn enquired with a grin.
George smiled, slipping on her sunglasses.
They headed away from La Manga and drove out towards Pilar de la Horadada. Within forty minutes Quinn was pulling into the car park of the big Mercadona supermarket.
‘Right, note this down. This is Quinn Blake and George Fraser shopping for groceries,’ Quinn said, getting out of the Jeep.
‘You think this is funny?’ George asked him.
‘Hell yeah! I’ve never been grocery shopping with anyone before,’ Quinn replied laughing.
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Where do you get your food? You can’t eat out all the time.’
‘I have someone that takes care of it for me. Then someone who comes and cooks it for me,’ Quinn told her.
‘That’s really bad,’ George remarked.
‘OK, so you show me what I’m missing out on,’ Quinn said and he took hold of her hand.
George flinched and snatched her hand away.
‘We can’t hold hands here. It’s too public, what if people see?’ she asked him, looking around at the other customers, heading towards the entrance.
‘We’re forty kilometres away from the carnival. Can you see any of my team visiting a supermarket?’ Quinn said.
‘Er, well, no. I expect they have people to do it for them.’
‘Yeah, you and me today. Come on,’ Quinn urged and he took her hand again, holding it firmly in his own.
They entered the busy shop and Quinn picked up a basket.
‘What are you doing with that?’ George asked him.
‘Well, don’t we need something to put the stuff in?’
‘Yeah and we’re going to need something bigger than that, preferably something with wheels,’ George spoke, pointing to a trolley.
‘Jesus! How much stuff goes into making a few little canapés?’ Quinn said, shaking his head.