The Last Kiss Goodbye

by Tasmina Perry

  ‘Anna, this place is amazing,’ said Abby as her friend’s hen party posse arrived at the hotel suite on the South Bank. She ran over to the window, from where she could see all the way down the dark ribbon of the Thames: the London Eye with its egg-shaped pods glowing blue against the night sky; the bright lights of the City.

  ‘Matt’s treat,’ smiled Anna as a bare-chested butler appeared out of nowhere with ten glasses of champagne on a silver platter.

  ‘It must have cost him a flipping fortune. Did he even throw in the butler?’ said Abby, dropping her voice to a whisper. ‘If he did, that’s what I call a modern marriage,’ she giggled.

  ‘Actually Matt’s dad, Larry, knows the owners and got it at a very good rate. And I hired the butler. You can never have too much of a good view,’ Anna said, eyeing his rippling torso.

  Abby flopped back on to the bus-sized sofa feeling very, very tired. It had been a long day. They’d had spa treatments at the Aveda Institute, taken a Thames boat cruise from Westminster to Tower Bridge and had afternoon tea at the Shard. Anna was still dressed in a pink tutu, which she claimed made her look more like Peppa Pig than Sarah Jessica Parker, and except when she’d been having the deep moisturising facial, Abby didn’t think she’d stopped laughing all day.

  She’d managed to forget all about Nick and their separation, forgotten about Rosamund, Dominic and Elliot Hall, and had spent the day having fun with her friends.

  ‘What’s for dinner?’ asked Suze, popping a Parma-ham-wrapped fig into her mouth. ‘Will Sophie be cooking?’ Sophie was Anna’s famous TV chef sister.

  ‘No, she’s got her assistant to cater for us,’ replied Anna diplomatically. It was common knowledge that Anna had a difficult relationship with her sister, after Sophie had had an affair with and subsequently married Anna’s ex-boyfriend.

  Suze rolled her eyes. ‘Assistant does cooking shocker. Does Sophie ever do anything for that show of hers? I’ve heard of a dumbwaiter, but she’s like telly’s dummy chef.’

  ‘Ssh, she’ll hear you,’ said Anna, stifling a giggle.

  ‘You’d better get out of that tutu, Anna Kennedy,’ grinned Abby, popping open a tube of Pringles.

  ‘We should probably all change,’ she agreed. ‘There are two bathrooms, one over there, another on the far side, if anyone wants to freshen up. Dinner should be in about half an hour.’

  ‘Drink, madam?’ said the butler, offering Abby a glass of champagne.

  ‘Don’t mind if I do.’

  ‘So,’ said Suze, curling her feet up on the sofa. ‘How’s it going with sexy Elliot Hall?’

  ‘How’s what going? We filed the story. End of story,’ Abby said with a dismissive wave of the hand.

  ‘I know you said nothing happened after his party, but Will told me you went round to his house for dinner the other night. He seemed to think there was something going on.’

  ‘I thought men only talked about beer, work and football,’ said Abby.

  ‘Come on, Abs,’ said Suze, nudging her. ‘I’ve told you everything about Will.’

  ‘I didn’t realise it was a competition.’

  ‘There is something going on, I can tell,’ grinned Suze.

  Abby took a deep breath. She hadn’t told anyone about the night with Elliot in St Petersburg. It seemed too personal, and far too confusing to discuss it before she had decided what she felt about it herself. But she also knew that Suze was unlikely to let the matter drop.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ she hissed quietly. ‘I slept with him, all right? We went to St Petersburg for the story and I slept with him. Are you happy now?’

  She wasn’t expecting Suze to be judgemental, but nor was she expecting her to respond with such enthusiasm. Suze clapped her hands with glee.

  ‘St Petersburg. How romantic! So when are you seeing him again?’

  ‘There’s no plan,’ she whispered, hoping her friend would simmer down.

  ‘Text him. Text him now,’ said Suze excitedly. ‘Arrange brunch for tomorrow.’

  ‘I can’t. We had a row at dinner.’

  ‘You see, you’re like a couple already!’

  The sound of a doorbell disturbed their conversation.

  ‘I hope nobody has ordered strippers,’ said Abby, glad of the distraction.

  Suze winced. ‘I had one of those when I left my last job. He had one ball hanging out of his posing pouch.’

  ‘Someone must have thought you liked that kind of thing,’ Abby giggled.

  Suze slapped her playfully.

  The bare-chested butler went to open the door and Ginny came in holding two big pink parcels.

  ‘Ginny!’ called Anna from the bedroom door.

  Abby felt her back stiffen. She had been glad that her sister-in-law had such a high-flying job that she’d had to miss the bulk of Anna’s hen do, as uncharitable as that felt even thinking about it. But she didn’t want a confrontation with Ginny tonight. It was Anna’s special day and she didn’t want to do anything to jeopardise that.

  She slipped out on to the balcony and breathed in the cool evening air, letting the sights and distant sounds of London calm her. By the time she came back inside, everyone was seated around the long dining table in the middle of the room.

  Thankfully, the only space was nowhere near Ginny, but she blew Abby a kiss from the other end of the table.

  Abby sat quietly as Ginny told the girls about her work trip to New York, and how she was sorry to have missed most of the hen night fun but had brought two big boxes of Magnolia Bakery cupcakes to make up for it. They polished off their dinner quickly, and moved on to the cupcakes, while Suze whipped a pack of cards from her handbag.

  ‘Right. Showtime,’ she announced. ‘I found this game in Ann Summers.’

  Everyone groaned.

  ‘It will be fun,’ she laughed, flicking through the cards. ‘We’ll start with this: how often do you have sex? Anna, you go first.’

  Anna pulled a napkin up to her face and giggled.

  ‘No! This is private stuff!’ she protested.

  ‘This is tame,’ replied Suze. ‘You should read some of the questions on these cards.’

  ‘Suze, please.’

  ‘Come on. Chop, chop. We’ve got a whole pack to get through.’ She was drunk, and the volume of her voice had gone up several decibels.

  ‘All right. Once.’

  ‘Once?’ said Suze at the top of her voice.

  ‘Once last week, but Matt’s been away. Usually it’s three or four times a week.’

  ‘Ooh! You pair of goers,’ smiled Suze, satisfied with her answer.

  ‘Is that normal? I thought that was normal,’ said Anna, looking for reassurance.

  ‘Three times a year, more like,’ laughed Caroline, one of Anna’s married friends from work.

  They went round the table.

  ‘Abby. Your turn,’ said Suze mischievously.

  ‘Come on. I think we should have coffee to sober up,’ said Anna, flashing Suze a warning look.

  ‘No, I think Abby’s got something to say. Come on, Abs. Tell us about St Petersburg,’ pressed Suze, taking a sip of her mojito and looking mischievously over the rim of the glass.

  ‘Suze, please,’ she said, desperately regretting telling her friend about her night with Elliot.

  ‘Abby had a romantic interlude with one of London’s sexiest men the other day,’ announced Suze. ‘In Russia, no less.’

  ‘You shagged a Russian?’ said Sophie, Anna’s sister.

  ‘No,’ said Abby with exasperation.

  ‘Abby is seeing Elliot Hall,’ explained Suze expansively. ‘Gorgeous journalist. Blond. Rupert Penry-Jones lookalike.’

  ‘I know the one,’ said Caroline approvingly. ‘The bloke you wrote that spy story with. His photo is always in the Chronicle. No wonder. He’s hot.’

  ‘And loaded. You should see his house.’

  ‘Money isn’t everything,’ muttered Abby.

  ‘Abby, I am so pleased for you. Glad you’re back
in the saddle, so to speak,’ said Sophie.

  The only person who looked more furious than Anna at the way the conversation was going was Ginny.

  ‘Right, coffee,’ said Anna.

  The bare-chested butler stopped adjusting his dickie bow and ran to the Nespresso machine.

  ‘And let’s not forget this,’ laughed Suze. ‘Anna Kennedy. This is Your Life . . .’

  ‘What on earth . . . ?’ Anna smiled, untying the white ribbon, then gave a peal of delight. ‘A photo book! Look at this,’ she said, leafing through the pages. ‘Where on earth did you get all these pictures?’

  ‘Your mum and dad came up with loads, and we tracked down some school friends. Cath supplied those debauched university years . . .’

  Abby was still aware of Ginny glaring at her. She excused herself under the pretext of getting some fresh air, and had only been on the balcony a few moments when she heard footsteps behind her.

  ‘Anna seems to be enjoying herself,’ said Ginny.

  ‘I think we’re all a bit knackered, though. Spa treatments, afternoon tea, river cruises, it’s thirsty work.’

  ‘It’s all one big laugh,’ said Ginny pointedly.

  They were both silent, and Abby looked out at the view. It was dark now, and London was lit up like a celestial map in front of her.

  ‘Everybody in that room knows Nick, Abby. I think you should have kept your love life out of the hen night fun and games. At least until you’re divorced.’

  ‘Suze shouldn’t have said anything. She’s off her head on mojitos.’

  ‘Yes, Suze was wrong, but perhaps you could have been a bit more discreet and not told her about your celebrity screw in the first place.’

  ‘Celebrity screw? Thanks for that.’

  Ginny raised an eyebrow.

  ‘You know, you’re still married.’

  ‘No thanks to you,’ muttered Abby.

  Ginny paled.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘I think you know,’ she said quietly.

  Ginny turned to go back inside, but Abby did not want to let her escape.

  ‘Why did you lie to Nick?’ she asked as a cool breeze slapped her face.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘You said I didn’t want to be married to him if we couldn’t have children.’

  ‘I never said that.’

  ‘Nick told me you did.’

  ‘And now you trust him?’

  Abby did not believe for one second that Nick would have lied to her.

  ‘What did you say, Ginny?’

  She looked guilty, caught out.

  ‘I was only repeating what you said.’

  Abby gripped the stem of her glass so hard she thought it was going to crack.

  ‘Ever since Nick told me, it’s been going round and round in my head. In a low moment I might have asked you if it was a sign that we shouldn’t be married, and boy, did I think that sometimes, but I loved him. I wanted children with Nick precisely because I loved him so much. I would never say I didn’t want to be married to him.’

  For a minute Ginny said nothing. Abby glanced across. Her sister-in-law’s gaze was fixed on the London Eye, turning slowly in the dark night sky.

  ‘All my parents want is grandchildren, and it doesn’t look like they’re going to get them from me,’ she said at last. ‘My brother would be a brilliant dad. He’s from a happy, secure family and that’s what he has always wanted for himself. But you and him together . . . it’s not going to happen, is it? You can’t have children.’

  ‘So you stirred up trouble,’ said Abby.

  ‘I made Nick think about what it is he really wants. You, or a family,’ she replied more fiercely.

  ‘So you think we should split up? You think Nick should find someone new, someone who could give him children? Is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘What I want is for my brother to be happy,’ she said vehemently.

  ‘We were happy.’

  ‘Were you? You had a funny way of showing it.’

  Ginny turned and looked at her friend directly.

  ‘Do you know how long I’ve been single, Abby? Ten years. And for half of that time, I liked it. I loved it. It was my choice. I was independent, my own woman. I could have dinner with friends in Soho every evening, and every night out was full of possibility. And then I woke up one day and realised that I was lonely. I had the job and the flat and the money in the bank to go on holiday with, but all I wanted was to find someone to share it all with. And I’ve not been able to. Whereas you and Nick . . .’ She shook her head. ‘You had what everyone wants. But you were constantly sniping at each other, you never seemed to appreciate one another.’

  Abby had to admit she had a point.

  ‘Things got difficult when we had fertility problems,’ she said more quietly.

  ‘Or is that just an excuse to cover up the fact that you got married too young and you’d just grown apart?’

  ‘I love Nick,’ Abby said, clenching her hand into a fist. ‘I love him more than anything. I would do anything, anything for him.’

  ‘Then why are you getting divorced?’ said Ginny simply.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Abby couldn’t believe the time when she opened her eyes. She pushed herself back on the hotel pillow and glanced at her watch. It was gone 10 a.m. Her dress was in a pile on the bedroom floor and her mouth felt dry and prickly like wool. After Nick left, she’d made sure she wasn’t that woman who sank into a heavy-drinking depression, but last night she had really imbibed too much, she thought, crawling out of bed.

  She went into the big living space of the hotel suite, expecting it to be littered with bodies and wine bottles, but Anna was already up and tidying. She had done a good job and the suite almost looked like a show home again.

  ‘You shouldn’t be doing this, Anna,’ Abby said, picking up an empty Pringles tube, shaking it, then throwing it in a black bin liner. ‘I’m a bad and ungrateful friend.’

  ‘You are my friend who had way too much to drink last night. How are you feeling?’

  ‘Felt better. Where is everyone?’ Abby said, looking around.

  ‘Most people have gone home.’

  They remained silent for a moment.

  ‘So what time do we get thrown out of here?’

  ‘Eleven, I think. Just enough time for some breakfast.’

  ‘What have we got? Left-over Magnolia Bakery cupcakes?’

  ‘Have a look. The butler helpfully left some stuff.’

  Still in her pyjamas, Abby shuffled into the kitchen. She put the kettle on for a big pot of tea and poured two large glasses of orange juice, then rustled up some toast and poached eggs.

  ‘That looks great,’ said Anna, sitting down at the dining table, which looked terribly big for just the two of them.

  ‘What a great night,’ smiled Abby, sticking her fork into the runny yolk.

  ‘It was a brilliant day. I loved it.’

  ‘Good. You deserve it.’

  ‘Did you have a good time?’

  Abby grinned as she nodded. ‘I haven’t laughed so much in ages.’

  Anna sipped her juice and looked at her friend. ‘So are you going to tell me what was going on with you and Ginny?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Abby, glancing away.

  ‘Did you two have an argument? I just noticed an atmosphere.’

  ‘It was nothing.’

  ‘Really?’

  Abby didn’t want to tell her. She still couldn’t believe that Ginny had tried to sabotage her marriage, and didn’t want that information to get out to their mutual friends.

  Ginny had finally apologised for what she had done and admitted that all her attempts at orchestrating a reconciliation between Nick and Abby were, in part, to do with her guilt.

  It was small comfort to Abby, who couldn’t help wondering whether Nick would have been unfaithful if he hadn’t taken what his sister had said as gospel. Ginny’s words had cut deep in
another way too.

  Then why are you getting divorced? she’d asked, and that question had echoed around Abby’s head as she’d finally fallen asleep.

  ‘Pass that book over,’ said Abby, wanting to change the subject. ‘I didn’t have a chance to see it last night.’

  ‘Let’s sit on the sofa and have a proper look,’ said Anna, grabbing her mug of tea.

  The two women sat down and opened the photo book between them.

  ‘I can’t believe how thin I was at university,’ screamed Anna, flipping through the earlier pages.

  ‘I can’t believe someone put a picture of Sam Charles in the bloody book,’ said Abby, pointing at a photo of the Hollywood movie star Anna had had a fling with just before she got together with Matt.

  ‘I think it’s Suze’s idea of a joke, but I can’t show the damn thing to Matt now.’

  Abby grinned. ‘You don’t have to feel guilty that you still find Sam sexy. He did appear in People magazine’s most beautiful in the world list. Twice.’

  ‘Is it that obvious?’ Anna winced. ‘Gosh, I’m horrible. Here I am, a very happily about-to-be-married woman, and I’m secretly leching over a Hollywood superstar. I don’t know if I’m immoral or a middle-aged cliché.’

  ‘I’d say you were just human,’ smiled Abby.

  ‘So’s Nick,’ said Anna quietly.

  ‘Is he coming to the wedding?’ asked Abby after a moment.

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘He was invited.’

  ‘He was your guest.’

  ‘And he’s still your friend.’

  ‘He sent me a really lovely note, but he doesn’t think it’s appropriate for him to be there.’

  Abby was aware of a vague sense of disappointment, but dismissed it by carrying on flicking through the pages, smiling wistfully at some of the images: a young Anna in pigtails running through a stream in the Lake District; on a girls’ holiday in Spain, laughing in a bikini and holding a bottle of wine; graduating from university in her cap and gown; on various twenty-something mini-breaks in Prague, New York and Rome. Abby had spent many nights listening to Anna complain about the lack of decent men, but now she wondered if her friend hadn’t got it right. Years of wild and adventurous singledom, then getting married in her thirties to the man she loved. She couldn’t help but think that she herself might have got it the wrong way round.