Goodbye, Jimmy Choo

by Annie Sanders

  “At night?”

  “No, half ten in the morning. Very thrilling.” She paused and ran her finger around the rim of her glass. “Why don’t people snog once they’re married?”

  “I don’t know. It’s one of those things you sort of give up at the altar. I love snogging.” She struggled to remember what it was like. “I love that moment when a man you fancy like hell bends his head toward you slowly and you just know he’s going to kiss you. No one snogs anymore, do they?”

  Suddenly the mood changed and she glanced fleetingly at Maddy. “Oh, some people do.” She paused. “Some people really do.” Maddy was alerted by the change in her voice and watched the tears of grief start to pour down her face.

  “Did you snog Jean Luc?” She hadn’t been going to ask that.

  Izzie put her head in her hands and rocked slowly, slipping into that twilight between happy drunk and maudlin wrist-slitting self-pity. “Oh God.” She groaned. “Can you stop the bloody room from spinning?” Maddy felt a moment of panic. Please don’t throw up all over my precious bedspread.

  Izzie raised her head, her eyes blurred and swiveling. “D’ja know the worst thing of all about hitting forty? I’ve just realized all those things I know I’m never going to do. When I was twenty I really thought I could do anything. It was all out there for the taking, and now here I am.” She took another swig of her drink. “I really thought by now I’d have conducted the Berlin Phil . . . or been in Vogue.”

  “But you have been in Vogue!”

  “I meant on the cover, stupid.”

  Izzie leaned back against the pillows and, rubbing her eyes, spread her mascara even further down her stricken face. “It’s the things I haven’t done that I regret. There were loads of things I wanted to do but I was too shy, but now I feel too old.” She looked across at Maddy mournfully. “And what if I don’t have sex with someone else ever again? I mean, is this it?”

  Maddy narrowed her eyes and looked back at her hard. Waiting.

  Izzie held her gaze. “Oh God, Maddy. What am I going to do?” She turned on the bed, eyes desperate and beseeching. “Everything’s going wrong. Is it all my fault? Why can’t I make these things work? The minute one thing goes well—like the business—I go and fuck up my marriage. I love Marcus so much, and I just want it all to be back like the old days.” Maddy took her in her arms and let Izzie sob. The old days. This was not the time nor the place to bring up anything she had learned about Marcus.

  “It’s okay. No harm done. Marcus doesn’t even have to know.” She rubbed her back, as Izzie wailed harder, shaking her head. “Come on, you old soak,” she said gently, and she eased Izzie off the bed, prizing the glass out of her hand and they both weaved their way to the spare room. Izzie grumpily complied with having her new Armani removed, despite her slurred request that she be allowed to sleep in it, and Maddy, stumbling slightly, helped her into the bed. Izzie was barely under the sheets, when she heaved herself out again, struggled into the bathroom, and wasted a good take-away and some very good champagne.

  Bleary-eyed and shivering, she reappeared from the bathroom a few minutes later, and slipped into bed. Maddy wrapped the duvet around her, then, grabbing a tissue from the bathroom and squeezing on some baby lotion—the nearest thing to hand—she went back to wipe the worst of the makeup from Izzie’s face. By the time she’d made a pathetic but slight improvement, Izzie was fast asleep.

  Chapter 15

  It was a very long time since Izzie had drunk enough to experience a top-class hangover. And now she remembered why. She felt ghastly. It wasn’t just the ceaseless churning of her stomach, the gritty-eyed bleariness, the blotchy complexion, and puffy face. It was that awful sensation that if she turned round without turning her whole body, her head would simply drop off. Maybe it would be better if it did, though. Then she might be able to get rid of the two little men with surprisingly heavy hammers who were taking it in turns to beat out the rhythm of Ravel’s Bolero on the inside of her skull.

  She gingerly made her way downstairs, gripping onto the banisters. She stopped, took a deep breath, and tried to swallow. Nope—still no good. There seemed to be a large egg—maybe goose or emu—lodged in her throat. That would account for the bird’s nest in her mouth. Ah, not far now. She’d reached the landing. Time for a little rest. Her body had evidently decided that it was just not up to the challenge. Perhaps that’s what being forty did to you, or was it simply too much clean living? Oh, yes—that was a warning, all right, and one that Izzie would certainly heed from now on.

  Because, despite how absolutely unspeakably hideous she felt right now, it had totally been worth it. It had been the very best fun ever. For the first time in, gosh, years, she had done exactly what she felt like—not counting that thing with Jean Luc . . . she swiftly put that out of her mind—and it had felt bloody marvelous. No worries about Marcus, the kids, the business, the image, the product, the market, the future. For that one glorious evening, she’d shelved it all. Even from the depths of her nausea, she could remember how good it had felt, and she wasn’t going to give up on that now! She’d have to go into serious training—regular lager-champagne cocktails and korma chasers. Seize the day—or whatever. Now she’d rediscovered her inner adolescent, she wasn’t going to let it go again! No siree.

  Maddy had thoughtfully left a bottle of chilled Badoit water out for her when she’d left to do the weekend shop, and Izzie glugged it down, pulling a face as she did so. Disgusting stuff, but very cleansing for the liver, or so Jean Luc had insisted in France. Damn that man—what was he doing popping up like that again? She pushed him back down irritably and continued with the liver cleanse as she poked idly through the contents of Maddy’s fridge, hunting out the best hangover cure she could come up with—egg mayonnaise and anchovies in brine on wholemeal—then sat down heavily on a kitchen chair, her head in her hands. This was not good!

  About forty minutes later, after a long hot shower and hair wash, trying out all Maddy’s share of the Elements’ haul, she felt almost human again. She sought out a pair of clean knickers—plenty to choose from—and put her Armani outfit back on. Provided she didn’t look at her face, now thoroughly cleansed and generously daubed with balm, she looked pretty darned fine. Forty and proud of it! Turning this way and that in front of the mirror, she finally pulled a hideous face at herself, then blew a big kiss at her surprised-looking reflection and murmured huskily, “You’re gorgeous! Go get ’em, tiger!”

  The bang of the front door downstairs and the sound of children running into the playroom alerted her to Maddy’s return, and she trotted down, now starting to feel reasonably human. Maddy looked appraisingly at her and whispered her greetings. She was clearly no stranger to hangover etiquette. “Ooh vertical! All right? Would you rather I didn’t talk for now? We can do sign language if you prefer.”

  “No ’sall right. The worst’s over and I’ve had something to eat.”

  “Good going! Wish you hadn’t done it now? Any regrets?”

  Izzie shook her head experimentally. Encouraged by the fact that it didn’t fall off, she grinned and shook it emphatically. “Not one! Not a single, solitary one! To tell you the truth, Maddy, it was the best time I’ve had in ages.”

  Maddy dropped her carrier bags, rushed over, and hugged her gleefully. “I’m so glad you said that. It felt so nice just to be daft for a change. We’ve had to be so grown-up and sensible lately. I was beginning to worry that we’d forgotten how.”

  “I know what you mean. It’s so weird when people ask us stuff as if we really know. And inside my head there is this mad urge to say, ‘I haven’t the faintest idea, and what’s more, I don’t care. It’s only face cream, for God’s sake. The other stuff is all crap and we’re just making it up as we go along.’ It’s only my deep-seated fear of Pru that stops me sometimes.”

  Izzie frowned, then swiftly pushed her eyebrows back up again with her fingers—too much, too soon. “It’s all bull, basically. Do you think they re
ally imagine that we wear cambric undies and live like Bathsheba Everdene? Could they really be that daft?”

  It was Maddy’s turn to frown. “Well, I think they sort of believe it and sort of don’t. Maybe it’s like fairy stories. You know that princess could never have really felt the pea through all the mattresses, but you go along with it because it’s a good story and you want to feel good when she gets the prince in the end. Mind you, I always had doubts about that marriage. And the mother-in-law!”

  Izzie shrugged and drained her second cup of coffee. “I s’pose. Anyway, I’d better get home before I show my face and check out the state of play. I hope Marcus isn’t going to do his martyr thing.”

  “Give him a cordial kick up the arse from me if he is.”

  “With pleasure!” Izzie stopped at the front door and turned back to Maddy. “Thanks for everything, mate, and I luuurve my new outfit.”

  “You’re more than welcome to toss your cookies in my bathroom any time you like! Happy birthday boxing day!”

  In the weeks leading up to the summer holidays, Maddy and Izzie focused on producing a new range of toners and cleansers for different skin types. With media appearances and interviews, as well as fitting in meetings with Pru, Elements, and the other stores that stocked PE, they had very little time for anything else. But they weren’t too busy to notice the changes that were going on around them. Everywhere they went, they found the same thing. Where a year ago, the look had been pared down, hard-edged minimalism, with a dash of po-faced cod-Eastern spirituality, now the press was raving about soft colors, floral patterns, loose and wavy hair, glowing pink cheeks. Far from feeling odd in their outfits, they both began to feel they were in the vanguard of fashion.

  “Do you think men really notice fashion?” pondered Izzie one afternoon as they checked a delivery. “I mean, Marcus is more than usually trend savvy, but even he doesn’t pay any attention to what I wear.”

  “Yeah, but maybe that’s because you’re his wife.” Maddy ticked off the list on her clipboard. “Men are physically unable to focus on their wives after being married for five years or more.”

  Izzie snorted. “I reckon it’s all our fault. It’s misplaced maternal instinct. We turn our men into babies by pandering to their every whim, then get fed up with them when we get real babies that are much cuter. Suddenly we want men that are men again, but by then they’ve lost the knack.” She heaved another box onto a pallet. “If only I’d had a pony to dote on during the early years of our marriage, I’d never have wasted all that time buffing Marcus’s hooves or plaiting his mane, and I wouldn’t have reduced him to this state of gibbering dependence.”

  She stopped and stretched. “Anyway, I’m subjecting him to a course in tough love now,” she said smugly. “If he doesn’t buy the coffee, we don’t have coffee. If he puts a red sock in with his shirts, he wears pink shirts.”

  “And how’s he responding to treatment?”

  “Hmmm. I’m getting a lot of huffing and puffing at the moment. And the specter of the summer hols is looming.”

  To celebrate the end of term—or perhaps to placate the kids for the impending weeks when their mothers would have to work full tilt—Izzie and Maddy had planned a party for the children. It was an e-mail from Jean Luc suggesting a visit, his first since their trip to his place in June, that had sowed the seeds of the idea. Izzie had downloaded the e-mail first, and glanced quickly over at Maddy, worried for a moment that he had e-mailed her at work by mistake. Then she realized how stupid she was being. He worked for them, after all! Izzie was very aware that she’d been less than frank with Maddy over what had passed between them that day, but she really didn’t know what to say.

  “Oh look, Jean Luc’s coming over! About time too.” Maddy, as usual, was full of ideas. “Let’s have a party right here, and invite all the staff, plus their partners, kids, whatever. Tamasin and Oscar will be starting back here too, so we’ll have them and Janet and Nick the vic. Jean Luc won’t know what’s hit him!”

  Izzie could feel anxiety rising. What would it be like when they met again? But Maddy chirped on oblivious, enthused by the prospect of balloons to buy, glasses to order, and sausages to prick. The party animal was in her element.

  Marcus, however, was very cool about the whole idea when she broached it at home. “Am I supposed to be honored by this invitation? Do you really want me to come, or would I cramp your style—especially if that bloody Frenchman’s going to be around?”

  Izzie turned away quickly and affected an air of nonchalance. “What? I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. Yes, I think Jean Luc might be coming. Dunno, really. The whole crowd should be there. I just thought you’d like to meet some of these people I keep mentioning. Don’t come if you’d rather not, though.”

  He snorted. “Well, don’t overwhelm me, will you? I think I’d better come along. Perhaps I should regard it as protecting my investment, eh?” And he left the room.

  The rest of the staff took to the plan with wild enthusiasm, with Karen and Angie coming up with more and more outlandish ideas, including fancy dress, a casino night, a sixties disco, and a tarts-and-vicars theme—this last firmly overruled in view of the Grants—and had to be encouraged to think small. To keep them out of mischief, they were put in charge of food, and came up with the idea of having a hog roast. Izzie, mindful of her daughter’s passion for piggies, quickly volunteered to provide a veggie alternative too.

  “Orright,” conceded Donna. “But none of that French cheese, y’hear. Makes me want to ’eave, that does!”

  Izzie’s anxieties intensified as the day drew nearer. It finally dawned clear and warm. Everything had been arranged with military precision. Since they planned to start proceedings straight after work, everyone rushed to get through the day’s tasks, and there was a pleasant buzz of industry in the air. The hog roast man turned up good and early, to get the fire going and the unfortunate pig cooked in time for the feast to start at around half past six. As the afternoon wore on the succulent smell wafted into the barn, spurring everyone on to greater efforts, and they had finished an unprecedented batch of orders by the time the last apron was hung up. Donna, Angie, and Co. rushed for the loo with their party clothes, and a lot of ribald laughter could be heard as they effected the transformation from work to play.

  Maddy, Izzie, and Lillian stripped off in their office and took turns with the hand mirror Lillian had thoughtfully brought with her. Angie’s boyfriend had arrived, and was soon rigging up armfuls of fairy lights in the trees next to the barn while his brother set up his mobile disco. Plastic dustbins full of ice were produced from the back of a van and tins of lager, many, many bottles of Bacardi Breezer, tins of Coke for the kids, and a few bottles of Australian white were thrust into the icy depths. By this time, Colette had turned up with Will, Florence, and little Pasco, and they were all hurtling round and round the barns with Angie and Donna’s kids in a nonstop game of tag. There was still no sign of Marcus.

  “Should I call him?” Izzie asked Maddy, looking anxiously at her watch. “I said any time from six.”

  “Absolutely not! It’s not even half past yet,” replied Maddy as she cracked open her first Breezer of the night. “Don’t show him he’s got to you. Just act cool. He’ll be here—the kids won’t let him cheat them out of precious party time, I promise you!” She looked up to a whistle. “Oh look! Here’s Jean Luc at last. Salut, mon gars! Te voilà enfin. Viens boire un coup avec nous. J’ai du vin Australien, spécialement pour toi!”

  Izzie’s heart lurched as she saw him. He pulled a face, and made his way toward them, past the bodies gyrating to Car Wash blasting from the disco. He’d had his hair cut and was browner than ever, the sleeves of his washed-out blue shirt rolled up to show tanned forearms with the hairs bleached gold. He smiled broadly and within seconds he had wrapped her in his arms, kissing her softly on her head when she couldn’t bring herself to raise her face to him.

  “Hello, my two lovely girls. Now I�
�ve seen you, the sun has come out. What a crazy idea to have a party outside in your terrible climate. Brrrr. I must stay by the fire all night.”

  He turned to Maddy and gave her, too, an enormous hug, muttering endearments in her ear in French. Izzie could hear her teasing reply, and he laughed and seemed to tap her reproachfully on the arm.

  “Ça suffit!”

  Turning his nose up at a glass of Australian “merde,” he opted for a beer and, as Izzie resolutely tried to avoid eye contact with either him or Maddy, an awkward silence descended among the three of them. She began to make an excuse to move away, when Maddy gamely waded in with some shoptalk which eased matters for a while, until Maddy gave a shriek and dived away. “Pasco! No! That’s not a chocolate raisin. Put it down. Aah! Not in your mouth!”

  Jean Luc laughed softly. “I don’t think rabbit droppings will do him much harm, do you?”

  Izzie looked down into her drink, and was about to reply, when an increasingly raucous Karen shimmied up to Jean Luc and threw her arms around him. “Bon jewer, gorgeous! Remember me?” Izzie grabbed the chance to step back into the shadows, and watched his perfectly pitched response to the girls. He looked relaxed and amused. How did he always manage to judge it right with people? How did he always seem to stay so controlled?

  She melted into the crowd while he was occupied, and chatted with Janet and Nick the vic, then tried to approach Crispin until she saw how engrossed he was in talking to Lillian. Still no Marcus. It was a little later, as she bent down to pick up a discarded hot dog from the grass, that she could sense Jean Luc standing behind her. She went to move away, but he put his hand out to stop her. Gently he drew her away from the rest, and taking her wrist, brought her hand up to his mouth for a soft kiss. “Izzie, we must talk. Please.”

  Reluctantly, she raised her eyes to his and sighed sheepishly. “Must we?”

  He smiled. “Yes, we really must. You didn’t reply to my e-mails. After what has passed between us, we should not hide anything.”