My One Month Marriage

by Low, Shari

  ‘Hey, ma darling, how are you?’

  ‘Stressed, Overworked. And celibate. So all normal,’ Kay replied with a giggle, before her eyes narrowed. ‘Mother of God, are you at a pool?’

  Yvie turned the phone and then panned 180 degrees so that Kay could absorb the wonder of her surroundings.

  Zoe gave a wave as the camera passed her. ‘Hi, Kay!’

  ‘Hey, Zoe, I’d say something nice, but I’m hating you every bit as much as I’m hating your sister right now. Jealousy is a terrible affliction. Are those statues in the back there, or real people?’

  Zoe tried to angle her body so that her voice wouldn’t carry. ‘That’s Posh and Becks reinvented – not statues.’

  ‘Then I’m glad my West of Scotland pale blue complexion is here and under a thick jumper – I couldn’t handle the pressure of lying next to that.’

  Yvie wanted to express empathy with that view, but Kay was already wittering on.

  ‘Anyway, I just called to see yer face because I’m missing it,’ she began.

  ‘Aw, I’m missing you, too. Wish you were here. This sister thing is over-rated.’

  That earned her a playful slap from Zoe.

  ‘That’s why I’m glad I’m an only child,’ Kay added with a wink. ‘And the other reason I called was to give you high-grade gossip.’

  ‘Kay! How many times have I told you not to spread gossip? It’s unbecoming and reflects badly on you as a person and a professional.’

  One of Kay’s eyebrows raised in scepticism. ‘So you don’t want to hear it then?’

  Yvie cracked, unable to hold the joke any longer. ‘Of course I bloody do. Where is it on the scale? Above or below the Head of Dermatology shagging the porter in the cleaning cupboard?’

  ‘Above. And she was just checking his skin for moles. It was a very thorough investigation.’

  Zoe and Yvie’s laughter was turning heads all around the pool now. They noticed and shushed themselves.

  ‘Okay,’ Yvie whispered. ‘Fire away.’

  Kay held a pause for a second or two to heighten suspense, before blurting, ‘Seth McGonigle and his missus have split. She’s gone off to Doctors Without Borders for a year.’

  ‘No way!’

  ‘Way!’ Kay shot back, the exchange mimicking many discussions with her six year old, Chester.

  ‘Wow. I bow to your mastery in the gossip stakes,’ Yvie went on. ‘How did you find this out?’

  ‘Ward night out last night at Gino’s for Jean’s birthday. She invited him as a token gesture and nearly fainted when he actually came. Carlo kept topping up the wine glasses – he was asking for you by the way – and after the fifth or sixth empty bottle, McGonigle cracked and dished the whole story.’

  Yvie had little time for the great Dr McGonigle, but still, that was rough on anyone and he had showed her a glimmer of humanity when Babs died, which had definitely softened her feelings towards him. ‘Is he okay?’

  Kay thought about that for a moment. ‘Actually, he seemed fine. But then, I’ve seen more emotion from my fridge freezer than that man, so it was hard to tell. Is it wrong that I’m starting to view him as intriguing and mysterious?’

  ‘As opposed to a moody git with the personality of a plant?’

  ‘Yeah, well, I like plants. Anyway, I need to go – I start in five minutes and the entire staff was at the party last night, so I’ve no idea what I’m going to face on the ward. Jean could be doing the Macarena up and down the corridor with her mop bucket for all I know. Come home soon, doll. We miss you.’

  ‘I miss you too!’ Yvie replied, too late, as the screen went black.

  She put her head back on the lounger. Seth McGonigle. Wow. She hadn’t seen that coming.

  Beside her, Zoe cleared her throat and Yvie turned to see an expression of expectation. ‘Seth McGonigle? Well?’ she asked, words loaded with teasing curiosity and a hint of innuendo.

  Yvie batted away the implications in her words. ‘Eh, no. Number one, he’s very serious, borderline rude. Number two, he’s a consultant. Number three, he’s a tad self-important. And number four, even if there were no other obstacles, he’s that kind of Grey’s Anatomy, leading man, way out of my league, kind of guy. Urgh,’ she shuddered.

  ‘Yvie! No one is out of your league! Seth McGinty…’

  ‘McGonigle…’

  ‘Seth McGonigle,’ Zoe tried again, ‘would be bloody lucky to have you!’

  Yvie was about to counter that glib claim when Verity appeared, still in her workout gear, looking about as far away from someone who was having a relaxing weekend as it was possible to be. Yvie resolved to try to speak to her again, but not in front of anyone else.

  As if she’d been sent a subliminal message, Zoe climbed off the sunlounger. ‘I’m just going to say hi to Marina and get us some more drinks. Do you want anything, Ver?’

  Verity shook her head. ‘No, I’m good, thanks.’

  Once Zoe was gone, Verity sat down on the edge of her sunlounger and began to unlace her trainers. ‘I’m just going to pop upstairs for a shower. What time are we getting our photos taken?’

  Yvie felt her heart speed up at the very mention of the pics. She hadn’t thought that through when she’d been enthusiastic about the freebie weekend. Photos. With three perfectly formed and toned sisters. She was going to have to offer the photographer all her worldly goods in exchange for some serious photoshopping.

  ‘I’m not sure, but it’s definitely this afternoon. Why don’t you stay here and have a drink with us before you go up for your shower?’ Yvie suggested, hoping Verity didn’t pick up on any ulterior motive.

  Verity didn’t answer, but she didn’t move to leave either.

  This might be her only chance, Yvie decided. ‘Hon, you are okay about Zoe and Ned, aren’t you? Only, you looked a bit shocked on the plane.’

  Verity’s expression immediately went straight to annoyed. ‘I told you ages ago, I’m fine. Why would I care? It isn’t as if I have any kind of feelings for the guy. I. Absolutely. Couldn’t. Care. Less. So will you stop…’

  She was interrupted by the ping of her phone on the sunlounger beside her, and two heads swivelled as their eyes automatically went to the screen. Yvie could have been mistaken, but she was almost positive she saw a notification there that included the word ‘Your Next Date’.

  Holy Jesus. Well, there was a turn she hadn’t seen coming. Verity on Your Next Date? No way. And yet…

  ‘Verity, is there something you want to tell me?’ she teased, gesturing to the phone, a playful grin across her face.

  ‘Yes, there is.’

  Yvie almost clapped her hands with glee. Finally! Verity was going to open up, to share…

  ‘How about you mind your own business?’ she said archly, before standing up and storming off.

  Yvie sighed, leaned back, despaired, picked up her bowl of olives, tossed a little globe of happiness up in the air, opened her mouth, watched it as it fell towards her…

  As it bounced off her chin, she wondered if it was a telling omen that she missed.

  20

  Marina – Ibiza Weekend

  Marina’s thumbs fired across the keypad of her phone, her laser focus adding extra pressure to each contact between her digits and the screen. Already today, she’d checked on Annabelle after her contemporary class and made sure that her friend, Cindy’s mum, – for the purposes of the favour, Marina was overlooking her disdain for the over-competitive Geraldine – would pick her up to take her to her Sunday ballet session. It was an extra session laid on for the more gifted dancers in the group.

  After that, she’d answered eleven – yes, ELEVEN – emails from Graham, about everything from the kids’ schedules for the day and the following morning (despite the fact that she’d sent them to him and his secretary, and she’d printed them off and stuck them to the fridge), to their plans for the dinner party she was arranging for his new clients the following weekend, to questions about how to use the washing mac
hine.

  And then, finally, she’d emailed Oscar his updated plan for the following week, so that he could spend the rest of the weekend preparing for his activities and studies before school, during school and after school. It was a tough schedule of sport, academics and music practice, but it would give him great time management skills when she eventually handed over the organisational reins.

  Only when all that was done, did she sit back and take another sip of her margarita and exhale. This weekend was supposed to have been a relaxing break, but actually, the opposite was true. How could she relax when she had so much going on at home that she needed to keep an eye on? What was she doing here?

  By the time they’d arrived on Friday and had food and a tour of the hotel, a couple of hours by the pool, and then dinner in the evening, the day was just about over. On Saturday, Verity had spent most of the day in the gym, while Yvie and Zoe lounged by the pool again. She’d joined them, but after ten minutes, thoughts of home had made her too agitated to sit still, so she’d taken her phone off to the bar and parked herself there to keep in touch with everyone and stay on top of her emails. She was glad when it was time to take the promo photos, because, if nothing else, they were a distraction from running through incessant lists in her mind and making sure everything was ticked off.

  Roger had asked that the photos be informal and natural, so there had been little in the way of set-up. Just a quick hair and make-up session, then they’d slipped into the white outfits that the shoot stylist had brought and got to work. The whole process had taken about two hours, which was as much as she could stand because the poor photographer had to continually ask Verity to smile and Yvie to stop hiding behind the others. Eventually, after pics in the restaurant, at the side of the pool, in the spa, and on the beach, the photographer had bustled off, no doubt to photoshop the crap out of the four of them to make them look like a merry band of classy, chic travellers.

  After the shoot, they’d had dinner on the beach, but it wasn’t a late one because she had yoga this morning. At least she was sharing with Verity, who’d had an early night too. When Zoe and Yvie finally surfaced today, they’d revealed that they’d been in the hotel bar until 4 a.m. The thought threw up a memory of the last time Marina was in a hotel bar, and her face flushed.

  ‘You’ve definitely caught the sun,’ Yvie had told her, noticing her ruddy complexion. ‘No idea how, when you’ve been sitting in the shade all weekend.’

  Marina chose not to enlighten her. Instead, she’d headed over to the pool bar for the second day in a row, to spend a leisurely Sunday wondering if there was anything she’d forgotten to do. The early flight tomorrow morning couldn’t come quick enough.

  ‘Have you moved since yesterday or are you stuck to the chair?’ The warmth in the man’s voice made her lift her head. Yves. Forty. French. Married. Did something in finance. Perfect English. Here on a golf trip with his buddies from work. They’d chatted for an hour or so the day before, sometimes in French, sometimes in English, when her language skills fell short of his.

  ‘I’m stuck to the chair. Emergency services are taking a while to get here,’ she told him and was rewarded with his crinkly eyes as he smiled. Graham could take note. Here was a man who took care of himself, and who still knew how to communicate with a woman. Yves looked her in the eye, listened to what she said, showed an interest and didn’t want anything from her. And yes, she knew what a fucking cliché that was, yet she couldn’t ignore it. Nor could she ignore the waves of attraction she felt for him. Enough. Bring the conversation to a close. Behave.

  ‘May I…?’ he gestured to the empty seat across from her. ‘Only until the emergency services get here, of course.’

  Say no. No. Definitely no.

  ‘Sure.’ Goddamn it.

  He joined her for a drink, that turned into two, then three. Her sisters all popped over to see her at one point or another, but she made no move to make them a permanent addition to the table. The truth? She was enjoying his company way too much. This was nothing like the barman from that night she preferred not to think about. This was different. This was… cerebral. He was wise. Experienced in life. Well-travelled. They were on the same intellectual level.

  It was with genuine reluctance that she eventually dragged herself away when Yvie wandered over to say it was time to get dressed for dinner. Tonight they were eating in the hotel’s main restaurant again, a gastronomic wonder that served an exquisite fusion of Thai, Japanese and Spanish food. It had been delightful the night before, but Marina would still have swapped it for a toastie and a couple more hours of conversation with the first man who’d properly listened to her in as long as she could remember. That’s what happened after four – no, five, margaritas.

  ‘Perhaps I will see you again before you leave?’ Yves asked, and right then, something connected between them, a subliminal message, a question asked and answered when Marina shook her head.

  ‘I’m sorry, but unfortunately we have plans for tonight. It was good to meet you, Yves,’ she said with absolute honesty as she rose from the table.

  He leaned over and took her hand, kissing it, before letting go. Usually Marina hated overfamiliarity, but this was something different altogether. She could still feel his touch moments after his lips had left her skin.

  It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to refrain from looking back to check if he was watching her as she walked away.

  In her room, she showered and changed, then donned a plain white shift dress for dinner. The sleeveless cut showed off her tennis and Pilates toned arms. The hem stopped just above the knee, flashing the legs that had barely changed since she was in her twenties. All the years of excellent nutrition and dedicated exercise had paid off, so much so that she even allowed herself a small dessert after dinner. Yep, she was living on the edge.

  For the second night in a row, Verity was the first to excuse herself. ‘I’m going to head to bed. I fancy an early night,’ she told them and Marina made a mental note to drop in on her during the week. There was clearly something going on with her. She’d spent the whole weekend in the gym and she never went anywhere without her phone stuck to her hand. It wasn’t as if she had kids who’d be calling, or her school would need to get in touch with her. Marina had asked her a couple of times if something was wrong, but Verity had brushed her off. Maybe on home territory she’d open up a bit more. Of all of them, Marina was the only one that Verity ever confided in. Hadn’t she told her at Christmas – actually it was more of a hint than a revelation – that she had a thing for Ned? Marina had wondered if that would cause problems when Zoe started seeing him, but Verity had assured her a few weeks later that it was nothing, she was absolutely over it and couldn’t care less. She had no reason to lie so Marina believed her. So what was bothering her this weekend? It was strange that she was now keeping something to herself.

  She thought about going upstairs with Verity, who was pushing her chair back from the table to make her escape now, but before she could say anything to the others, she spotted Yves and his friends through the glass wall of the hotel, making their way to the bar.

  ‘Shall we have a nightcap in the bar since it’s our last night?’

  Already on her feet, Verity shot her daggers, and then declined, claiming she could feel a migraine coming on. Zoe and Yvie hopped right on board.

  ‘I told you that underneath all that terrifying efficiency there was a party animal waiting to come out,’ Yvie joked, nudging Zoe to play along, which of course, she did.

  ‘Mmmm, I’m not sure. You get the party poppers and I’ll start the conga and we’ll see how long she lasts.’

  Marina pursed her lips and ignored them, determined not to admit she was actually amused. She was happy to be the butt of the joke if it got her into the bar. Of course, once there, she acted surprised when Yves came up behind her as she ordered drinks.

  ‘Mon Cherie. So we were to meet again after all.’ Okay, so it was slightly corny, but tell th
at to the tingles that had begun to make her stomach flip. Ignoring the barman’s offer to take her drinks to the table, she delivered Yvie and Zoe’s gin and tonics, then came back for her own.

  If Yvie and Zoe minded that she spent the next half an hour talking to Yves at the bar, they didn’t say anything. They did, however, have plenty of complaints when she went over to their table afterwards to tell them she was tired and going to bed.

  ‘Oh, come on, stay out with us! How often do we get to do this?’ Zoe asked.

  ‘You haven’t even been to the nightclub yet,’ Yvie wailed. ‘Come with us. Every dance burns off eighty-five calories – a hundred and fifty if it’s anything by Beyonce.’

  ‘Tempting, but I’ll pass,’ Marina told them, with just a tiny shred of regret. Zoe was right. They should do this more. She’d forgotten what being an independent grown-up felt like, but she was slowly beginning to remember. And much as more time with her sisters would undoubtedly be enjoyable, she was more tempted by another option.

  Slipping her bag under her arm, she made her way to the lift and pressed the button for the fourth floor. When the doors opened, she turned left and walked towards her room. And kept walking.

  If anyone was manning the corridor’s CCTV cameras, they’d see Mr Yves Roche make his way to his suite at the end of the long passageway. They’d see a woman in a white dress with a sharp, black bob, walk a few feet behind him. Then they’d see him hold the door so that she could follow him into his room. If there was sound, they might even hear the thud of his door, as they slammed against it the minute it was closed, lips already on lips, clothes already being discarded. A couple of hours later, they’d see the same woman leave the suite and make her way to her own room, several doors along, creeping in so as not to wake her sleeping roommate. The next morning, they’d see not even a glimmer of regret on her face as she walked jauntily down the corridor, pulling her trolley case behind her, accompanied by her sister.