Tripping on Love (2 page)

8. Cancel breast augmentation free consultation (rebook if possible for later date)

Picking up my pen, I crossed the fifth entry from the list. The new job was secured. Now all I needed was a new wardrobe of clothes to go with it. What did a travel advisor wear? 

'Hi
, it’s me - are you home?' Mel’s voice echoed through the flat. 

Putting down my notebook, I jumped up in surprise. I hadn’t expected her to be back this early.

'Hiya' I said walking barefoot into the hallway. I leaned across to pick up one of the two sacks of clothes she was struggling to carry through the doorway. 

She looked at me expectantly.

'Did you get the job?' she asked breathless and impatiently. 'I want to know if I’m paying the rent again this month, only I’ve seen a state of the art steam iron I have to have' she said with a wistful look in her eyes.

Laughing, I shook my head in my usual state of disbelief at her directness. Mel was weird like that; she didn’t get excited at new bags or shoes, she liked electrical gadgets. I'd take a clutch bag over a blender any day.

Trying to keep straight faced as she watched for signs of expression, I looked down towards the floor in sorrowful pretence. I noticed Mel's shoulders sag slightly in defeat.

'Ha
, fooled you!' I said, laughing. 'Yes, I got the job. I start on Monday.' I heaved one of the bags of clothes into a free corner of floor space. 

Mel skipped towards me excitedly and threw her arms around me in a tight embrace.

'Oh, congratulations honey - let’s have a nice cup of tea and a choccie bar to celebrate' she walked purposefully towards the kitchen. I watched as she flicked down the kettle switch and the funky shaped, transparent middle began to change colour as the water heated. Another of her crazy purchases. 

Minutes later she came into the living room where I was sitting, carrying two mugs of tea and a double stick chocolate bar. Since living together, we had developed a habit of sharing one bar, making us each feel food conscious and healthier. Neither of us acknowledged that this usually happened four times a day.
  Still, what's a life without chocolate?

Mel listened enraptured as I filled her in on the interview and my lunch with Stella.
Mid-way through conversation, she gasped, making me jump in shock.

'What’s the matter?' I asked
, suspiciously scanning the floor for signs of a spider or creeping insect.

'I just remembered that your mum called for you this morning. She sounded really upset, something about Miguel taking his aftershave from the bedside table, and there being no more trips on the speedboat' Mel said quietly, avoiding my eyes.
Panic surged through me. 

'Surely this one hasn’t left her too?'
 

Mel’s expression looked sympathetic. She was only too familiar with my mother’s love life and how each breakup wrecked havoc with my own life.

Endless phone calls would ensue from my mother, who lived in Spain, demanding me to go and visit her in support. Ironically, I hadn’t received one ounce of sympathy or support from her when the situation had reversed and Will had left me. It was no surprise though. My mother was a very selfish woman.

Over the years, both Stella and I had witnessed her string of failed flings, and had been there countless times to pick up the pieces. My mother had a skill for choosing the wrong type of man. Not one of them had been ideal. From the Elvis impersonator who had answered every question with 'Aarh haa', to the man fixated with westerns, who insisted on wearing a cowboy hat at all times. Afterwards had arrived the car salesman, who was later convicted of fraud and served seven years in prison. And how could I forget the bus driver who pretended to my mother he was part of the Russian Mafia? She had naively believed him.

Reaching for the phone, I entered my mother's number and listened patiently as the dial tone repeatedly rang. No answer. How very strange.

Usually she’d be sitting by the telephone waiting for her latest lover to call, and beg her to allow them back into her life. Of course, this never happened. Not once.
 

She was most likely in a drunken stupor somewhere, feeling sorry for herself.
  Sighing loudly, I reluctantly replaced the receiver in its holder. It would only be a matter of hours before she'd be calling me again to sympathise with her. For the hundredth time. 

CHAPTER FOUR

My first day at RJ Travel wasn’t an experience I would forget in a hurry. If every day was going to be similar to the first, then it was highly unlikely I would be employed beyond a couple of weeks.

After a slow start of waiting around for a computer and desk area to be set up for me, I was intro
duced to the only other adviser, Samantha. A very dizzy twenty three year old, wearing a hideous pink suit and hair tied loosely in plaits.

The morning passed quickly with a tutorial of the easy to navigate database system. By lunchtime I was ready to be confronted with my very first customers, Iris and Donald.
 

I smiled politely and used the phrases I had been taught by Samantha, to establish my client's preferences. The elderly couple seated before me had a small budget and were setting their sights on
Thailand. Donald explained their eagerness to visit the local heritage; the beautiful waterfalls and giant Buddha, whilst every so often enquiring about the night life and men-women he so frequently heard about. 

I was all too familiar with the Donald’s of this world and after fifteen minutes of politely ignoring his probes, my patience grew thin.

Samantha, who was mentoring me from a distance, had looked on open-mouthed as I explained to Donald that in order to get affiliated with a he-she, his best chance would be to stay in the city of Bangkok. It would certainly live up to its name if he had a few Thai Baht to spare.

This comment hadn't settled very well with his wife Iris, who promptly shrieked like an elephant at my inappropriateness, immediately turning on her heel and walking out. Poor Donald had looked forlorn, until Iris came stomping back for him and ushered him out by his tweed jacket.
 

Ronnie had called me into his office soon after. I stood embarrassed as he lectured me on client etiquette, fully aware that my actions had been potentially costly to his business and reputation. Rather generously, my incident was put down to first day nerves. I slunk back to my desk with a verbal warning and personal reminder to myself that my life was already spectacularly at rock bottom. Getting fired for a second time within four months, wouldn’t help my situation.

I had four more sets of customers throughout the day. Whilst the first three of them were genuinely looking for a holiday and prepared to book there and then, the final family were 'lookers'.

Will and I had done it many a time. Entered a travel agent store to pick up brochures of resorts we knew we couldn’t afford, yet dreamed of one day visiting. However, there was a very big difference between swiftly collecting a brochure, and sitting with an agent for an hour, looking into various
Caribbean options.

Reaching the booking stage of the itinerary process and after much deliberation from the family, the father figure had calmly announced that he was going to proceed with his annual caravan holiday in Bognor Regis. Apparently, he didn’t feel there was any place that could rival it. Even the
Caribbean.

It had taken a great amount of self control, not to snatch the notepad from his hands and stamp on it in fury. Furthermore, not to grab back the handful
of exotic destination brochures that he had spent the past sixty minutes flicking through, and slap him with them. 

Ronnie's expertly timed appearance, with a shop bought cappuccino and a blueberry muffin, helped to calm me and to avoid taking further frustration out on my computer screen monitor.
 

I was torn wondering where my new found anger had surfaced from. Either my PMT level had notched up a gear or I was finally entering the anger stage of the relationship breakdown process. Whichever was to blame, I quickly found the muffin sugar rush to be a soother.

Over the next few weeks Ronnie became both friend and ally. Gone were the days of his teeth threatening to give me nightmares. I quickly learned that he was a shy man, often looking downwards when he felt embarrassed or threatened. My early mistake of misinterpreting this as cleavage gazing was long forgotten. Samantha had brought me up to speed on his life outside of the office. He lived alone, rarely dated and idolised his estranged son Teddy. 

Our work relationship was an unexpected delight. I'd never been employed by any boss that offered to do the tea round themselves. Nor that bought a daily pastry for both of his staff. Samantha often joked that he had a crush on me, because whilst I always received muffins or creamy apple turnovers from Ronnie, she often acquired a rather sad looking flapjack or sausage roll.
 

Samantha was the opposite of Ronnie. She was a live wire, fun, witty and often reminded me at times of Mel.
  Her personality tended to reflect her daily clothes theme. By the end of the first month I had already witnessed the Princess image, which had consisted of a glittery top and glittery shoes. The Moulin Rouge, which saw her wearing red clothing and fishnet tights. And my personal favourite; the Girl-Next-Door. This was the only theme in which she did in fact dress normal.

It wasn't long before I was achieving above target daily sales. I suspected it had something to do with customers preferring to approach me as opposed to Samantha in her ridiculous outfits.
  

I
also began to realise that my flair for sales and customer service was far more adept than I had originally assumed. It appeared I had a natural way with selling, much to my surprise.

Ronnie was more than happy with my first month results and thanks to a new adver
tising campaign I had initiated, we were fast becoming a number one choice for travel arrangements in the area. 

It came as little surprise when Ronnie called me into his office in my sixth working week and asked me to take on more responsibility. The real shock came upon hearing his proposed idea; acting as Marketing Manager for RJ Travel, as well as overseeing the
marketing for proposed projects abroad. 

My head span as I listened to his plans and realised the gravity of the project I would be agreeing to. Despite a generous salary increase, my workload would increase dramatically.
  Yet I couldn’t help feeling excited and a tad smug. The changes I had been hoping for were finally beginning to materialise. My life was about to change significantly. I could feel it.

CHAPTER FIVE

My arms ached from being held in the air for too long. Why was it that a French twist always looked so simple to achieve in a magazine, yet they were near impossible to replicate? Nearly
   nine attempts and I still had stray hairs falling about my face.

The phone rang on the sideboard next to me. Tugging on my hair clip in frustration, I allowed my long locks to fall around me, settling in a complicated mess, before picking up the handset.

'Hello?’

'Darling, its mother. How are you?' The familiar cockney drawl caused me to squint my eyes at its rawness.

Wonderful. The Taxi would be collecting us in less than twenty minutes and my mother had chosen this moment to call, after weeks of her being unavailable.

'Mother
, it's really not a good time right now; I'm about to go out.'

A tutting sound came from the other end of the receiver.

'Darling, I know you might be angry that I haven’t managed to return your calls sooner. But its Sampson you see, he isn’t keen on spending time indoors' she said in a disgruntled tone.

I rolled my eyes, single handedly plugging in my hair straighteners, in an attempt to restore a sense of normality to my appearance.

'It's fine. Don’t worry about it. I assumed you were busy with your new boyfriend anyway.'

Stella had already filled me in on the details of the latest one. Younger, well established and handsome. Three attributes which made his companionship with my mother highly questionable.

'Yes, we’ve been spending most of our time on the yacht. Sampson says women with children shouldn’t forget to make time for themselves.'

Unbel
ievable. Standing in irritation, my bare toe caught the already hot, clay ironing straightener.

'Ouch. Fuck.'

'What’s the matter?'

I sucked in my breath as frustration threatened to erupt from me in a further string of obscenities.

'You are the matter. Ridiculous comments are the matter. Stella is thirty three years old mother and I am twenty eight. Hardly children' I retorted heatedly.

Silence greeted me. The topic of childhood was a sore subject. I didn’t blame my mother for rarely being at home when I was younger; nor did I blame her for taking no interest in my schooling, or any area of my life for that matter. However
, I wasn't about to allow her to fall under the illusion that she had been in any way the selfless, caring, nurturing figure that she was undoubtedly trying to portray.

'Oh Lizzie
, don’t be such a drama queen' she said lightly, before wisely changing the subject. 'Stella tells me the new job is going well for you. I'm hoping you are going to come and visit me soon. I have a new baby I want to introduce you to - Coco, she’s adorable. You’re going to love her.’

The straighteners I was pulling lightly through my hair, halted in amazement. A new baby meant she'd acquired yet another furry mutt to add to her clan. The previous three had all been gifted by ex-lovers. Never had I dared to ask what they had been in aid of. How she would manage with a total of four pets was beyond my understanding. Besides, what kind of a mother forgets I’m allergic to dogs?

'Wham or Abba?' Mel called out to me from the other room, interrupting my conversation.  There was nothing like pop classics to get us in the mood for our night.

'Mother
, I have to go. I'll call you in the week and we'll chat more then.'  I hung up the phone before she could say anything further and breathed a sigh of relief.

Stomping into the living room, Mel was sitting casually on the sofa, already on her second glass of wine.

'You're not even dressed yet?' Mel said incredulous. 'The Taxi is going to be here in ten minutes.'

Wham was playing in the background as I gazed enviously at her fabulously long legs, complimented by her new skinny leather trousers. In comparison, my legs were no longer than her arms.

I looked down at the black bra and knickers I was sporting, yet to find something suitable to wear.

'I was thinking to go in just this?' I said
, waving my hand at my underwear ensemble and slipping on a pair of heels casually strewn nearby. 'But do you think it's going to be warm enough?' I kept straight faced as the window rattled with wind in answer to my question. Mel grinned.

'Stop messing about;
hurry and get ready.'

Rushing from the room, I briefly caught sight of my beloved pearl drop earrings from beneath her golden hair. I thought I had hidden those?
 

Throwing open my drawers and wardrobe, I surveyed my options. It was the one night I needed to look stunning. Carl's thirtieth birthday party was to be a big occasion. Everyone we knew would be attending. Including Will.

My new body cinching red dress stared temptingly at me from its hanger. A whim purchase bought after the split. Not at all my style. Primary red, a low neck and clinging in all the right places, it had made me feel powerful and sexy in the store changing room. Yet it hadn't seen the outside of my wardrobe since. Tonight I would need to be confident and strong. I wanted to show Will that I was a new me. That I had moved on.

Will was my handsome ex-fiancé of six years who had left me for a weasel faced tart, by the name of Amanda, coincidentally a childhood friend of Mel’s. Their friendship had come to an abrupt end last summer, when Amanda had openly told Mel that she wanted to fuck Will. Completely unaware of the conversation, I had been busy in the kitchen, cooking the three of us my signature dish.
  Had Mel informed me of this before frying the garlic, I would have happily added a touch of arsenic and watched as Amanda's spiteful face turned purple.

It was only as it neared Christmas and Will had told me that he had fallen for someone else, in the form of Amanda, that Mel confessed to the snide comment and her reason for pulling away from the friendship.

I'd been trying to mend my broken heart ever since.

Reaching for the red dress, I carefully slipped it over my head. It was time to be bold. My long brunette hair fell against the silky fabric, as I gently manoeuvred the dress downwards, until it sat a couple of inches above my knees. It was tighter than I recalled, hugging snugly against my small waist.

Mel appeared in the doorway holding out a glass of wine in my direction.

'Wow you look stunning' she said eyeing me from head to toe. 'Will's going to kick himself when he sees you and realises what he's missing out on.'

I shuddered at hearing his name. Checking my reflection in the mirror, I hardly recognised the person staring back at me.  I looked sexy and domineering. Two things I would never have associated with myself. My trial make-up session aiming for the smoky eyed image, had worked. As had the previous nights fake tanning session. My bronzed limbs glowed healthily, accented by the bright tone of the dress.

'Drink up, we've got to leave soon. Change the shoes too. They're far too clunky. Actually, I have just the pair' Mel said
, excitedly rushing from the room and leaving my wine glass balanced precariously on an upturned book.

Minutes later she thrust a pair of delicate, black strappy heels into my hand.

'Try them; 1940's, partial dyed snakeskin and calf leather, size four.'

I felt like Cinderella as I slipped on the magnificent creation. They fitted perfectly.

'My goodness, I love them' I exclaimed, happily looking down to admire my feet. They made the dress look chic and classy.

Mel knocked back the last of her wine.

'Be careful with them, those shoes are worth £150 to me' she warned with a slight slur, reaching for her lipstick and adding a final layer.

A Taxi horn beeped loudly outside the house. It was time to face the music. On this occasion, not quite so much in a literal way as I would have liked. I looked down one last time, mentally assessing whether it
was worth potentially ruining £150 shoes, in order to kick Will hard in the bollocks for the pain he had caused? 

I smiled to myself, adrenaline coursing through me at the thought. Of course it was.