‘What a f-lappity band wiggle,’ Mollie said in outrage.
‘Babe, do you want to call me back when you can actually swear, because I’m not finding this very helpful.’
‘Well, you swear for me. She sounds awful. It all sounds awful. Aren’t you meant to be careening around Italy having lots of post-engagement…cuddles?’ Mollie sighed. ‘Sorry, it’s impossible to talk about anything!’
‘Apparently we’re only here a few more days,’ Chelsea sighed, ‘apparently.’
‘Babe, you’ve got the ring. If you need to be a bitch, be a bitch.’ She could almost hear Mollie shrug.
‘Hey, language!’ Chelsea snorted.
‘She’s in the kitchen,’ Mollie said. ‘What I mean is, if you need to walk, to make him realise he made a commitment to you, then do it.’
‘Walk?’
‘If he can promise to marry you, he can keep a promise to leave in a couple of days. If you’re miserable, give him a deadline, book a flight or a train, get the heck out.’
Chelsea frowned. ‘This does not sound like Mollie advice. What’s going on?’
There was a pause at the end of the line. ‘Don’t let the parents eff stuff up. Gotta go.’
Chelsea was left holding the phone in her hand, physically staring at it in surprise. She was still learning who Mollie had become in those ten years they hadn’t stayed in touch, when she’d gone off to uni and Mollie had stayed home, raised her daughter and lived a quiet life. For the most part, she took it that her friend was the same person she’d been at seventeen, quiet and unassuming, a little shy until you got her on a stage. But maybe there was more to her story than Chelsea knew. She was going to find out when she got home. If anything, between her family and Kit’s, she realised she needed her friends. Real friends, not the ones who throw awkward dinner parties and make fun of you when you say you don’t like Manchego. The ones who have held your hair back when you’ve vomited and know how you take your coffee.
She took her time getting ready, putting on her white flowing maxi dress with the blue flowers on, over her bikini. This was going to be a holiday, whether Kit’s family saw it that way or not. She put some suncream in her bag and her sunglasses on her head, holding her head high as she walked downstairs, ready for battle.
The house was quiet, and Chelsea walked through to where they’d been sitting the night before, but the table was bare. She followed the patio and saw some stone steps, curving round to a space with a swimming pool, where she saw Kit doing laps. She just stood and watched him for a moment, the morning sun on the back of her neck as she saw his tanned, muscular arms appear from beneath the water.
‘Good morning,’ a male voice said warmly, and Chelsea turned to find Alistair, holding out a glass of orange juice. ‘Kit will be done soon, why don’t you sit in the shade and have some coffee, or some breakfast?’
‘Is everyone else already out?’ Chelsea smiled in thanks, taking a sip of the orange juice and closing her eyes briefly at the sweet, fresh taste.
‘No, Miss, Kit’s always the first up. Celia’s awake but she’ll be reading in her room, and the others tend to sleep later. Habits of a lifetime.’
‘Oh.’ Chelsea followed Alistair to the two chairs sitting in the shade, next to a small table. ‘Okay, sure.’
‘Let me get you a cup of coffee, are you hungry?’
‘Oh, no, let me –’ Chelsea made to stand up, but Alistair smiled and shook his head.
‘I know you’re uncomfortable with people doing things for you, but this is how they do things, how I do things. So let me do the things I do, all right, love?’
Chelsea raised an eyebrow and grinned, shrugging, deciding that her first impression was right, and this man was the one to get to know.
He returned a few minutes later with two coffees and a plate with an almond croissant.
‘Kit said these were your favourites.’ Alistair put the plate down on the table, probably so she couldn’t reject it.
‘Will you sit with me for a bit?’ Chelsea asked. ‘I mean, if that’s allowed?’
Alistair smiled, his weathered face stretching comfortably, like the sun had softened him. ‘It’s allowed. You’re really uncomfortable with all of this, aren’t you?’
‘Which this? Meeting the family, being engaged, waiting to meet the ex-fiancée I’ve never heard of, or the fact that I feel more comfortable as a member of the staff than a member of the family?’
Alistair snorted into his coffee. ‘Don’t worry about Tatty, that was all a lifetime ago. And this is just a job, a job with people I’ve worked for and cared about for over twenty years. Think of Mary Poppins. She was paid, wasn’t she? She was the help. Didn’t mean she wasn’t part of the family too.’
‘Huh, rich people can be complex too then.’ Chelsea grinned widely, poking out her tongue. She paused, taking a sip of the black coffee, rich and smooth as she tried to find the words. ‘I’m not a complete newbie to all this, I mean, the clients I work with have houses that make this look like a garden shed, but…somehow it’s different.’
‘Because it’s not your life, it’s a holiday to a strange and mystical land.’ Alastair sipped thoughtfully, looking out at the lake in the distance. ‘You marvel at it all, pretend you’re unimpressed, shake hands, make your deal, and you’re back to your real world once again. Back over the rainbow, where you know what colour the brick roads are.’
Chelsea looked at him, tilting her head. ‘Bit of a philosopher, are we, Al?’
The older man’s smile grew slowly. ‘Reckon I might be, Miss. But you’re missing the point.’
‘Which is?’
‘It’s still a holiday to a strange and distant land. You’re going back to your world soon enough. So might as well marvel at the madness, drink the expensive wine and revel in the fact that soon enough you’ll be home in your ordinary world, doing ordinary things and feeling comfortable.’
Chelsea bit her lip, looking as Kit pulled himself out of the pool, his muscles tensed and wet, wiping himself down with a towel and looking up to see her, a smile breaking out on his face.
‘Yes, but this is his ordinary,’ she said softly, watching as he waved and gestured, walking up to her.
‘This was never his ordinary, he’s too good for it.’ Alastair followed her gaze, his voice low. ‘Why’d you think he works defending kids done for drug busts or petty theft, instead of brokering deals with massive corporations? He’s between worlds. A bit like you, I think.’
Chelsea breathed out, watching the love of her life walk towards her as the older man whispered truths.
‘Fucking hell, Al. Mr Miyagi or what?’
‘I just say it how I see it, love,’ he shrugged, standing up as Kit approached.
‘But you see everything, don’t you?’ she said, not sure if he’d even heard her. His lips twitched as he looked at Kit.
‘Good morning!’ Kit’s voice was enthusiastic, and she wasn’t sure if it was the genuine endorphins and the sunshine, or he was trying to jolly her along today. Either way, she was so damn pleased to see him that she didn’t really care.
‘It is a good morning,’ she said lightly, kissing his damp cheek as he took a sip of her coffee. ‘I’ve got an almond croissant.’
‘I may have mentioned your weakness.’
‘Alfie was more than happy to make something, you’ve got quite a fan there,’ Alistair grinned, ‘and Alfie hates everyone.’
‘We have that in common,’ Chelsea laughed.
Kit stole a bite of her croissant and pulled a T-shirt over his head, his blond hair still wet and slicked back so that Chelsea almost had to shake her head with how attractive he was.
‘So, today, you and I are escaping.’ He stroked her arm and grinned.
‘What?’
‘Just for the day.’ His voice faltered. ‘It seems dumb to be here and not see any of the lake. So let’s go out on the boat, get some lunch somewhere, spend the day in the sun. Just us.’
; ‘Are you avoiding something?’ Chelsea raised an eyebrow, pulling down her sunglasses.
‘Absolutely, my awful family and my ridiculous ex from a lifetime ago, and anything that isn’t about me and you and this beautiful place.’
Chelsea felt her eyes water, glad for her sunglasses, and simply reached for his arm. ‘Sounds good.’
‘Want me to pack you a picnic basket?’ Alistair asked gruffly. ‘If I’m not one of these awful things about your family?’
‘You know you’re the only sane one, Al,’ Kit grinned. ‘No food, we’ll dock at Limone and have lunch. That place with the excellent pizza.’
‘Oh yeah, excellent pizza in Italy, super difficult,’ Chelsea said.
‘Would you rather go and eat fillet of veal in a Michelin style?’ Kit said fairly, ‘because we can…’
‘No, no, no! Food I can eat with my hands!’ She punched the air. ‘Yas! Throw in some cut-price wine and I’m in.’
Alastair snorted. ‘I’ll see what I can find, but I wouldn’t hold your breath, love.’
Chelsea sighed. ‘Well, if I have to drink the expensive stuff, I’ll make do.’
‘But you’re unhappy about it,’ Kit laughed, throwing an arm around her.
‘Well yes, obviously.’
Half an hour later, Chelsea was making her way carefully down the stone steps at the back of the house, the curved slabs rocking beneath her sandals as she held her floppy hat to her head in the breeze.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll carry everything!’ Kit laughed from behind her, waving the woven bag at her.
‘Okay, thanks!’ she trilled back, looking down at the blue waters of the lake beckoning her. She looked with joy at the floppy red flowers on her flip-flops and her bright red toenails. Today was a good day, and the breeze from the lake ruffled her hair a little. When she reached the bottom, Chelsea hopped off the last step and skipped down the dock to the boat.
If she had ever expected a little row boat, she had learnt by that point to adapt her expectations. The Monroes didn’t do small. But at least it wasn’t a sixty-foot yacht – it was positively modest for the family.
The cruiser was sleek and shining, bobbing in the water, the sun bouncing off the silver rails. The name Limoncello was on the side in dark blue italics.
‘What the hell is that name all about?’ Chelsea asked, tilting her head to the side to make sure it actually said what she thought.
Kit snorted. ‘When we first used to come over as kids, Celia thought Limoncello was the prettiest name ever. She used to make us call her it. She said it made her think of fruit playing instruments in an orchestra.’
Chelsea grinned. ‘That’s cute.’
‘She’s the only good one, and god knows how she’s managed it with those two raising her.’
She frowned slightly. ‘You managed it.’
‘Nah,’ he shrugged, looking at the boat, ‘you say that, but I’m pretty much like my brother. And he’s a massive arsehole. That’s why I try and avoid him – it’s like when we were kids and I always used to catch the flu the minute he sneezed. Except you grow up and it’s worse than the sniffles.’
‘Like how?’
Kit frowned, scanning his memory for something applicable. ‘Once I met up with him when we were both on holiday in the South of France. He took me to a casino when I was drunk, kept goading me into betting more and more, telling me I was weak and a coward. I lost five grand that night.’
Chelsea felt her jaw drop. ‘Five grand?’
Kit shrugged. ‘It is what it is.’
‘A fucking waste.’
He shook his head, tilting his sunglasses as he looked at his feet. ‘I was young, I was an idiot. I’m not an idiot any more.’
‘God, when I was a young idiot I stole a Strongbow and a handful of Pick’n’Mix from the cornershop.’
‘You obviously didn’t play in the big leagues, babe,’ Kit snorted. ‘You get thrown out of enough schools you learn how to make a splash.’
Chelsea wasn’t sure she liked the sound at that at all, that boastful throwaway feel of it, as though that money and that destruction meant nothing.
‘Well, what changed?’
‘I was drunk at this party one night and this beautiful girl told me that I could shove my smooth one liners up my arse, and learn to have a proper conversation where you actually listen to the other person, because they might have something interesting to say,’ Kit grinned, stroking her arm.
‘That sounds familiar, she sounds terribly smart.’
‘Oh she is.’ Kit put his arms around her, sticky and warm in the heat, but solid against her. ‘You know, when I met her I was working in corporate law, I had a Ferrari and partied every night. And then she started talking about troubled teens and youths in over their heads. And somehow I ended up working with kids with bad attitudes who wanted to fuck stuff up like I did. It was mad.’
‘What happened to the Ferrari? Did you sell it to raise money for desperate orphans?’ Chelsea mocked.
‘Nope, I lost it in a bet to a client, and figured it served me right for being such a nob.’
‘You bet a car.’ She pulled down her sunglasses to look at him. ‘An expensive sports car. It’s all coming out now. Got a gambling habit I don’t know? Addiction?’
‘Only to you, my darling.’ Kit kissed her neck and she felt herself soften, although he bet a car, he lost 5k like it was nothing wound through her brain like a snake in the grass. ‘Besides, it’s okay, I’m a decent guy now. With my job that makes less money and a car that I couldn’t give away.’
He was right, he looked like him, and it was almost impossible to imagine him, obnoxious and gorgeous in a designer suit, leaning over a blackjack table and throwing away money that meant nothing to him. He was different now. He was with her.
Chelsea simply stared at him, a small smile upon her lips. ‘One day, we’re going to have an argument, and you’re going to use that against me, how you could have been making big money as a corporate lawyer if it wasn’t for me…but I absolutely don’t care.’ She kissed him slowly, holding the Kit she knew close to her, desperate he was being taken away with every memory he shared. She grasped him, feeling his arms around her as the wind swept off her hat and it fell into the lake without her even noticing.
After a few mis-starts, they were out on the water, her hat having been abandoned to the watery depths. They chugged along to start with as Kit got his bearings, tension in his arms.
‘Not quite a speedboat,’ Kit said, looking around anxiously.
‘Would that be better? This is huge!’
‘Not as manoeuvrable, for someone like me,’ Kit shrugged.
‘There’s a joke there about working with big machinery, but I can’t quite bother,’ Chelsea grinned, looking up to the sun.
‘It’s good though,’ Kit said, ignoring her, ‘a great place to escape to.’
Chelsea closed her eyes, leaning back and feeling the breeze on her skin. ‘This whole place is an escape. I feel like I can breathe again.’
The sun kissed her skin and she knew she should be worried, but she smiled as she felt warm and sleepy, relaxed against her seat. She closed her eyes and smiled, listening to the rumbling of the engine and the parting of the water.
‘Would that be because we’re away from my family?’
Chelsea turned to him, her eyebrows raised but unseen behind her huge sunglasses. Which way to play it – acknowledge their issues and open something up, or smile and not let the day be ruined?
‘Is this the part where we talk about the ex-fiancée I never knew you had, or are you going to say that you’re concentrating on not crashing the boat and we’ll talk about it later?’
Kit grinned, his eyes tracing the distance for buoys and other boats. ‘I’m concentrating on not crashing this boat right now, but let’s not talk about it later anyway.’
Chelsea laughed, shaking her head.
‘No, I’m serious!’ Kit smiled at her, shrugging. ‘Why
talk about it? You’re a big fan of leaving things behind locked doors. Let’s just leave this behind a locked door.’
Chelsea paused whilst she tried to tell whether that was a brush-off or a genuine attempt to keep the mood light.
‘The things behind my locked doors don’t tend to turn up and crash into your life unannounced, days after getting engaged. I have big heavy-duty locks on those suckers.’ Chelsea tried to keep her voice level, but she could tell they had every chance of ruining a lovely day if they carried on like this.
‘Like what you said at the opening? The Ruby Rooms? About your stepdad breaking people’s legs and sorting things out back home? Because I’m betting at some point, one of those kids I have to defend in court is going to give up a name that starts to sound familiar.’
Chelsea scoffed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, it’s Badgeley! It’s like a different universe! And a lot of that was exaggerated for effect.’
‘To scare off Evie’s dad, who was trying to make money from your dead friend.’
Kit’s voice was judgemental, and Chelsea felt herself prickle.
‘Well, I wonder why I kept the Jeremy Kyle portions of my life out of sight, seeing as you’re not acting like a judgemental posh boy about it at all! How about we go drop five grand in a casino to feel better about it?’
‘It’s your shame that’s the issue, Chels, not me, you think I give a shit if your mum lives on an estate? Come on. You ranted for twenty-five minutes about how much my mum’s handbag cost. Twenty-five minutes. Judgemental goes both ways, you know.’
‘Yes, it’s not just a privilege reserved for the working classes,’ Chelsea yelled, ‘that’s just like us poor chavs, stealing benefits and reserving the right to be judgemental!’
‘Oh come on!’ Kit turned to face her, his hands tight on the wheel.
‘If I didn’t need you to drive this fucking thing, I would push you in the sea right now!’ Chelsea stomped below deck.
‘It’s a LAKE!’ Kit yelled after her.
Nice Day For a White Wedding Page 9
