She wasn’t going to get what she wanted this afternoon. Nearing the front door, the shouting grew louder. Should she simply turn around and leave her parents to it?
She could go to see her other best friend, Jules, or pop around the corner to Sasha’s. But since Jules had started planning her own wedding, she was turning into a bit of a Bridezilla, and newly-engaged Sasha would no doubt be going down the same path. Sasha would probably be cuddling up with John, anyway. Jules’ fiancé, Bruce would be playing golf, as he usually did on a Sunday, come hell or high water … or hangover. All of them would be nursing one of those judging by the amount of alcohol they all consumed last night.
There was always Simon. She could go to his. Or maybe not. Now that she was questioning his feelings, would it be too soon to crash out on his bed as she had so many times before, without there now being a sense of awkwardness?
Besides, she didn’t really want company. What she wanted was the TV to herself, and some peace and quiet so that she could think. She definitely needed to think about the day she’d had. Think about Simon. About her promotion. But mostly about the weird feelings she’d experienced when she’d met the unbelievably gorgeous, Aidan Rourke.
If only she could talk to her mum about it. But that would be a complete waste of time. And a very short conversation. Tabitha Warner would only be interested in hearing two things about Aidan. Was he single? Was he wealthy? Nothing else mattered in her opinion these days. Not feelings. Not love. Not companionship, or compatibility. If the man was single and wealthy, marry him. If it didn’t work out, get a good lawyer – like her – and take the jerk to the cleaners. A very odd attitude for a woman who had herself married for love and whose marriage had lasted for nearly thirty-six years. Until a few short months ago.
Being the daughter of two successful divorce lawyers definitely had its perks, financially, but the dinner conversation usually revolved round failure. Failed marriages to be precise. From a very young age, Ali had been able to quote the statistics of how many marriages ended in divorce and it was one of the reasons she decided she never wanted to add to the numbers. Admittedly, the divorce rate had apparently decreased slightly over the last few years, no doubt due to the fact that more people lived together now without actually marrying, but the numbers were still high. She could say with some certainty that those who married younger were more likely to divorce, as were women over fifty-five – the age group into which her mum fell, having recently turned fifty-nine. Every day, Ali had heard how couples, who were once so much in love, were suddenly at each other’s throats. Either it was a cruel twist of fate, or people made bad choices where love was concerned. And they argued over the most ridiculous things. Like who would get the vase that someone or other had bought them – a vase both had agreed was hideous until the contemplated divorce. Suddenly, neither party could live without that vase. Or something they had both loved because of sentimental reasons, they now both despised simply because it had once meant so much. It was getting that way with her parents.
Ali took a deep breath and opened the front door of the Warner family home. Not that the eight bedroomed, architect designed house would be the family home for much longer. Tom and Tabitha Warner were going their separate ways and it was becoming more apparent with each passing day that it was going to be an acrimonious divorce. A divorce in which Ali was stuck firmly in the middle.
Her parents were standing in the hall and they turned towards her like bulls about to charge.
‘Ali! Tell your father it’s completely out of the question. He knows I’m having friends round for dinner on Friday, so removing the dining table and chairs to his den of iniquity on Thursday simply won’t do.’ Tabitha flicked a lock of long blonde hair over her shoulder and crossed her arms in front of her ample chest.
‘Remind your mother that the dining table and chairs belong to me and I shall remove them whenever and to wherever I see fit. Also point out that my new house is not and never shall be a den of iniquity. I am not having sex with someone else, but if I were, it would be as part of a loving, happy and perfectly healthy relationship. Not that your mother can remember what sex is, of course.’
‘Assure your father that I remember sex quite clearly. Even though two seconds and a gasp is hardly memorable.’
‘Enough!’ Ali shoved the front door shut with her elbow and threw her keys into the hand-carved wooden bowl on the hall table.
The bowl was teak and came from Thailand where the newly-wed Mr and Mrs Warner had purchased it on their honeymoon nearly thirty-six years ago. It had been in the hall of each of the three houses the Warners had owned and was always displayed on a hall table similar to the ebony one on which it now sat. No doubt they would be arguing over that bowl before too long.
Tabitha gave Ali a startled look. ‘There’s no need to shout, darling. Or slam doors.’
‘No,’ said Tom. ‘Your mother already has that down to a fine art.’
‘Stop it, both of you. I’ve had a really tiring day after no sleep at all last night. I could do with not getting dragged into one of your ongoing arguments the minute I open the front door.’
‘Well honestly, darling. How am I supposed to know what sort of day you’ve had? And staying up all night was your choice entirely. I came home at a sensible hour. God alone knows what time your father skulked away. No doubt with some bimbo or other on his arm.’
‘I left shortly after you, and alone, as you damn well know. You tried to run me over in the car park.’
‘I did no such thing. I didn’t see you.’
‘Oh, you saw me.’
‘Stop it! Why is everything always about the two of you these days? Instead of acting like spoilt children you could start behaving like civilised adults and sort this out between yourselves. Please leave me out of it. I love you both and I hate this squabbling.’
‘Tell your father that. He’s the one who started the argument.’
‘I did no such thing. I simply told your mother when the removal company were coming to take my belongings.’
‘The day before my dinner party. A dinner party that’s been written on the calendar for weeks.’
‘How am I supposed to know what’s written on the calendar? It’s your calendar. You told me so in no uncertain terms. You also told me not to check what you were getting up to, remember? Not that I was. I’m not in the least bit interested in what you do.’
Ali let out an ear-piercing scream and both Tabitha and Tom unwittingly took a few steps back.
‘Alison?’ Tom frowned at her. ‘Why on earth did you make that dreadful noise?’
‘Because I’ve had it, OK? You were in love once. Can’t you remember that?’ She grabbed the heart-shaped wooden bowl, the keys jangling against the sides like chains. ‘Remember this? You always told me that the reason you keep this by the front door is so that, no matter how stressful your day may have been, the first thing you see when you come home is this bowl, and it takes you straight back to your honeymoon and idyllic walks along the beach, hand in hand. What’s going to happen to this?’
Tabitha and Tom briefly exchanged glances.
‘You can have that,’ Tom said. ‘Even though I paid for it.’ He turned away and strode off towards his study.
‘I don’t want the bloody thing,’ Tabitha shrieked. ‘I’ve always hated it. I only pretended to like it because you bought it the day we arrived and I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.’
He glowered at her over his shoulder. ‘You were always good at pretence. But it’s been a long time since you cared about anyone’s feelings other than your own.’ He slammed the door behind him.
‘You wouldn’t know a feeling if it jumped up and bit you on that Pinocchio-like nose of yours! Ignorant pig,’ Tabitha snarled, slamming the dining room door behind her.
Ali tossed the bowl onto the table sending keys sliding over the edge and onto the black, polished table top. Neither of them wanted the bowl, it seemed. And yet they still managed
to argue over it. She reached out to return the keys but her mobile rang and instead she answered that.
‘Welcome to the Warner family home. A haven of happiness, tranquillity and love.’
‘You what, babe?’ Jules, her other best friend asked, after a momentary silence.
‘Nothing. Just came home to Mum and Dad arguing again.’
‘No change there then.’
‘Nope. How was your day? Mine’s been weird. Please tell me something to cheer me up.’
‘We’re going to The Golden Dragon. Want to join us?’
‘We, who?’
‘Me and Sasha. John’s going to come along later. And Simon might, I think. My darling fiancé, will be stuck at the nineteenth hole on the Shimmering River Golf Course for some time, I expect, but even he may show his ugly mug at some point. He’s paying though, although he doesn’t know that yet.’
Ali glanced towards the vacant sitting room; the vision of her crashed out in front of the TV briefly appearing before her, but her gaze drifted to the closed doors of the dining room and her dad’s study and the vision was gone in a flash.
‘I’m on the way. Oh, but actually I can’t walk. I’ve just hobbled back from the centre and I can’t move another step. My feet are killing me. I’ll have to call a cab. And I suppose I should get changed. I’m in my tracksuit.’
‘Tracksuit? Weren’t you meeting Mr Golden-balls today? I thought you were going to look all hoity-toity, professional and stuff. I’m dying to hear all about it. Did you give him hell?’
‘Yeah. That didn’t quite work out the way I thought it would. I’ll explain when I see you. You didn’t ask why I can’t walk.’
‘Didn’t need to. I was on the dance floor with you for most of the night, remember, babe? My feet are bloody killing me too. Tell you what. You go and get changed and I’ll pick you up in a cab in half an hour. Bruce can pay for that, too. After all, he was the one in charge of that ace disco last night, so it’s all his fault. See ya.’
Ali grinned. Anyone would think Jules didn’t love Bruce, but the truth was, she loved him to bits and he felt the same about her. Of course, their soon-to-happen marriage probably wouldn’t last. Any more than Sasha and John’s marriage would. Which was a pity really because they were all such lovely people. When Jules wasn’t in Bridezilla mode and a complete and utter nightmare, that is.
Ali gingerly made her way upstairs, spent fifteen luxurious minutes in a lavender scented bath before rapidly throwing on a pair of black trousers and a floral shirt, together with a pair of toe-post, mule-heeled sandals, which again, had cost her mum a fortune. They were like sinking her feet into a pillow of air, so today they were worth any price, no matter how high.
She grabbed her keys from the no longer cherished wooden bowl just as a car horn beeped outside.
‘I’m going out with Jules and Sasha,’ she yelled to the both firmly closed doors of the study and the dining room and dashed out the front door as fast as her painful feet would allow, before her parents had time to reply.
‘So what was the row about this time?’ Jules asked, as Ali climbed in beside her on the rear seat of the cab.
‘Mum not wanting to sit on the floor to eat, I think. Although with those two these days, it could’ve been about anything.’
Sasha sniggered from the other side of Jules. ‘I can’t see Aunt Tabitha sitting on the floor, crossed leg with a plate on her lap.’
‘She’d rather die,’ Ali said. ‘She’s having a dinner party and Dad’s decided to book the removers for the day before. It’s his parents’ dining table and chairs, so he’s taking them, which sort of leaves Mum in the lurch. She’s repeatedly said how busy she is at work at the moment, so finding replacement dining furniture and having it delivered in time is a big problem. She thinks he’s planned it because he knew about the dinner weeks ago. The entire street knew about it. I’m surprised there wasn’t a notice in The Times, or at least the local paper. She made a real fuss about who would and wouldn’t be coming. Dad wasn’t invited, needless to say and to quote Mum’s words to me: “It’s to welcome the new partner, Alejandro to the fold and he’s an absolute dish himself. I wouldn’t mind making a meal of him, if you follow my meaning, darling.” That was said at full volume and the town crier probably thought he’d be out of a job. Dad was in his study at the time, so he definitely got the message loud and clear.’
‘Has he done it on purpose?’ Jules asked. ‘Booked the removers, I mean.’
‘Probably. I think they go to bed each night in their rooms at opposite ends of the house, and plan how to score as many points over one another as they possibly can and what to do to make each other thoroughly pissed off. But what they don’t seem to realise, is how this is affecting other people. And by that, I mainly mean me, of course. Hmm. Sometimes I wonder if I’m as selfish as Mum.’
Jules gave her a hug. ‘You’re not at all selfish, babe. You’re always doing things for others no matter how time consuming or difficult they might be. Especially for your friends. You’re always ready, willing and able to help out a friend. Particularly your best friend.’
‘Why do I get the feeling you want me to do something for you, Jules? Is that why you phoned and asked me to join you? Oh, don’t give me that look. I’ve seen it too often. What is it? Or do you want to wait until I have a drink in my hand before you ask?’
Sasha gave a burst of laughter. ‘You’ll need more than one drink when you hear what Jules wants.’
‘That bad?’
Jules tutted. ‘No. It’s only a tiny thing really. And it’ll wash out.’
‘Wash out? That’s a bit worrying. What, exactly, will wash out?’
The cab pulled up outside The Golden Dragon. ‘That’ll be a fiver exactly, my lovelies,’ the driver said. ‘Want me to add it to Bruce’s account?’
‘Yes please, babe,’ Jules confirmed. ‘And add a 50p tip for yourself.’
‘So?’ Ali said, once they had piled out and were standing on the pavement. ‘What will wash out?’
Jules linked one arm through Ali’s and one through Sasha’s. ‘Semi-permanent hair colour.’ The three of them pushed open the double doors of the pub.
‘Semi-permanent what? Are you saying you want me to dye my hair for you?’
‘Semi-permanently, yes. Don’t look so worried. I want everything matching for my wedding. The bridesmaids’ dresses, shoes, bags, hair. Sasha’s up for it and I’ll have to bleach hers because getting dark brown hair to go the exact shade of Strawberry Blonde I want won’t be easy unless it’s on a bleached base. Your shade of natural blonde hair will take the colour without a problem. Then it’ll wash right out after a few times and you won’t even remember you changed the colour at all.’
‘You changed the colour, you mean. May I think about it?’
‘Of course. I wasn’t planning to do it until Monday evening.’
‘Monday evening?’ Ali leant on the bar. ‘This Monday evening? Tomorrow?’
‘Yes.’ Jules waved a perfectly manicured hand at Ronnie, the barman. ‘Three G&Ts please, babe. And have one yourself. On Bruce’s tab, naturally.’
Ronnie grinned. ‘Hair of the dog? I’m surprised you three are still standing. Ace party, by the way, Sasha.’
Sasha beamed at him. ‘Thanks, Ronnie. And thanks again for working the bar.’
‘Enjoyed every minute of it.’ He winked and poured their drinks.
Jules nodded towards an unoccupied table and they all headed in that direction.
‘So why Monday?’ Ali dumped her bag on a vacant chair and the others did likewise. ‘You’ve got months until the wedding.’
Jules took a large swig of her drink and sighed. ‘I needed that. I may have months, but you wouldn’t believe how much I’ve still got to sort out. I need to make sure the colour’s perfect, so the sooner we try it, the sooner I can tick that off my list.’
‘You mean this is just a trial run? You may need to try another?’
Jules
shrugged. ‘Possibly.’
Ali shook her head. ‘OK, Jules. You know I love you but you’re not messing around with my hair. Once, I don’t have too much of a problem with – but if it all goes horribly wrong, I’ll kill you. But more than once, is a completely different matter.’
‘It won’t do any harm at all to your hair, I promise.’
‘I’m doing it,’ Sasha said, grinning into her glass. ‘And I’m having bleach.’
Ali tutted and nudged Sasha with her shoulder. ‘Yes, but you’re an idiot and your hair has been every colour of the rainbow three times over.’
‘True.’ Sasha emptied her glass. ‘Want another?’
‘Slow down, babe,’ Jules advised her, emptying her own glass and handing it over. ‘Might as well make it a double. That way we won’t have to go back so often.’
Ali glanced from her cousin to her friend, shrugged, and knocked back her own G&T.
‘Will you do it?’ Jules asked, when Sasha went to the bar.
‘Do I have much choice?’ Ali grinned at her friend. ‘Yes I’ll do it. But remember what I said. If my hair turns green, or starts falling out, or anything else, you’re dead.’
‘Absolutely.’ Jules crossed her heart with her fingers before giving Ali a massive hug. ‘Can you be at the salon by five? Or will you need to get permission from the new manager?’
Ali laughed. ‘I’ll ask myself if I’ll let me leave early.’
‘Huh?’
‘I’ll tell you when Sasha gets back.’
They only had to wait a few seconds. Apart from Sasha, there was no one else ordering drinks.
‘Ali’s being weird,’ Jules said.
‘I’m not being weird. I’ve been promoted. I’m now the manager of The Shimmering River and Water Sports Centre. As from today. And I get a pay rise. Which will probably only buy one G&T, but every little helps, as the saying goes.’
Shrieks of delight filled the pub and Ronnie gave them a questioning look.
‘Ali’s got the job,’ Jules informed him.
It Takes Two Page 4
