by Mandy Baggot
‘Oh - I see - well OK, that’s fine, but we can talk about it can’t we? Why are you at the airport?’ Nicholas asked, trying hard to hide his disappointment.
‘What is there to talk about?’ Freya asked him.
‘Well, we need to talk about it. I mean we can work something out. I threw it at you, I know I did, and it was wrong. I was emotional, because of the night and I jumped in,’ Nicholas told her.
‘Martha says I’ll ruin your reputation. She says you would be better off with someone like Hilary,’ Freya stated as she searched for excuses.
‘Roger told me what she’s been doing. After tonight she’s history,’ Nicholas responded.
‘But Roger can’t tell you what I said. He’s a wise monkey,’ Freya spoke.
‘Roger knows exactly how I feel about you Freya. He had to tell,’ Nicholas said.
‘It wouldn’t work. I can’t be the doll on your arm that you need,’ Freya continued, still struggling with excuses.
‘Who says I need a doll on my arm? Martha? Gene and Bob? Hilary? I want you on my arm, no one else,’ Nicholas insisted.
‘I can’t do it. People don’t want to see you with someone like me,’ Freya carried on.
‘I don’t care about “people”. How many times do I have to tell you that? And what do you mean when you say “someone like you”? Someone bright, intelligent, funny and beautiful? Someone I really care about? That’s exactly the type of person everyone should be with,’ Nicholas spoke.
‘I’m going home,’ Freya told him.
‘You’re running away,’ Nicholas responded.
‘I’m just going home. It’s where I belong,’ Freya spoke.
‘You’re so used to running away you don’t know how to stop - even when you’ve nothing left to run away from,’ Nicholas stated.
‘That’s not true,’ Freya insisted.
‘Yes it is, you’re scared. Scared to trust me, frightened that if you start believing in us it might actually happen,’ Nicholas carried on.
‘What you’re doing with the fundraising is fantastic. You don’t know how much I admired you tonight,’ Freya told him.
‘You’re really ending this aren’t you? After all we’ve been through together, you’re ending it,’ Nicholas spoke.
‘I don’t know what else to do,’ Freya admitted, the tears welling up in her eyes.
‘Come back here and talk to me. I’ll have a car pick you up, or I’ll come there,’ Nicholas told her.
‘No. My flight leaves in twenty minutes,’ Freya lied.
‘Don’t leave Freya - please don’t leave,’ he begged her.
She could hear the emotion in his voice and it made her stomach contract with longing.
‘Nick, I want you to know that I’ve never met anyone like you before. You’re the only man that’s ever made me feel special and you’re such a good person. I just wish things were different,’ Freya began.
She stopped talking because she couldn’t go on. Tears were running down her face, her throat was dry and she couldn’t find the words she was looking for.
‘Don’t do this Freya. Don’t turn your back on me,’ Nicholas pleaded with her, his voice failing him as he tried to swallow his emotion.
‘I have to - for your sake. I’m sorry,’ Freya insisted and she ended the call.
She dropped her head to her knees and burying her face in her expensive dress she sobbed, soaking the material with her tears.
Thirty Five
Freya had played Turncoat almost daily since she had returned to England two months ago. She knew it was unhealthy, but she had wanted to see him to remember him.
She had eaten from every takeaway outlet in the area and had set up an account with Threshers. She had had few assignments. She had done four weddings (no funeral) and was in the middle of some promotional pictures for a new Friendly Shoppe that was opening soon.
The school photography had all but dried up. She could only assume that was down to the fact that everyone now knew she had a criminal record. She was clear on a CRB check now, but that wouldn’t matter to the parents. Although she had often felt like kicking a few of the children who insisted on picking their noses when she was ready to shoot, she would never have really harmed any of them, or set fire to them - not on a good day anyway.
It had taken a few weeks for the journalists to leave her alone. She had done an interview with Shooting Stars magazine saying that Russell had misquoted her. She knew better than to disobey her father and she truly feared for Emma. It had been the sensible thing to do. She wasn’t sure whether her father’s squeaky clean image had been tarnished at all by the ‘gossip’ but she only hoped it had. So now she was a wayward rich kid who had a criminal record and told lies. And once upon a time she had briefly dated a Hollywood actor. It was quite a life synopsis.
The only reminders of her time with Nicholas were some photographs from Lake Korrison and the fact that old ladies occasionally stopped her in the street and asked where her handsome young man was. Although it hurt like Hell every time it happened, Freya had learnt to smile and nod and pat their arm.
She had bought a new mobile telephone that had been a necessity. Nicholas had phoned often and not always from his mobile, which meant screening the calls had been difficult. When she answered and it had been him, the sound of his voice made her heart break and she was back to square one again, weeping into a pizza.
She had wept into a lot of pizzas lately. One large meat feast had got particularly damp when she’d bought a copy of That’s Entertainment magazine and seen the photographs she had taken of Nicholas displayed for the world’s consumption. The figure quoted as the donation going to Nicholas’ testicular cancer charity was a cool ten million. She was proud of what he’d done and what he was going to achieve, but it ached to no longer be part of his life. The photographs just seemed to mock her. She had held that body, she had cherished the person inside and she had let him go.
Tonight there was nothing on television again and Freya wasn’t even in the mood for any of the Die Hard trilogy. Arnie was doing nothing for her lately either and Turncoat had been almost worn out. Besides, it only made her cry and she had done too much of that already.
Her mobile phone rang and Freya picked it up and checked the display. It was Emma.
‘Hello Bride,’ Freya answered.
‘Hello Bridesmaid, this is the Bride calling. Oh, you beat me to it,’ Emma greeted, disappointed Freya had ruined her joke.
‘Sorry about that. So is this joke going to wear off when you’re actually married?’ Freya asked her.
‘Yes, then it will be “Hello Miss J, this is Mrs P calling”,’ Emma informed.
‘It sounds like you’re about to deliver the results of the Greek jury on Eurovision,’ Freya told her.
‘Imagine me being Mrs P. I hope I don’t end up looking like her,’ Emma remarked.
‘Looking like her would not be good, cooking like her might be useful,’ Freya suggested.
‘Anyway, enough of me - how are you doing?’ Emma enquired.
‘I’m fine, you’re the one getting married at the weekend,’ Freya reminded her.
‘I am aren’t I?! I am so excited. My mum and dad arrived today for the start of the traditional Greek festivities. Apparently, if I wasn’t already pregnant, villagers would come round and roll babies on our bed to promote fertility,’ Emma told her.
‘Fancy,’ Freya responded.
‘My mum’s already driving me crazy with her fussing. She feels the need to check everything – it’s very annoying,’ Emma continued.
‘Made lists has she? Did you never wonder where you got it from?’ Freya asked.
‘She’s trying to take control. I’m just glad she doesn’t understand Greek or I am sure her and Mrs P would be at loggerheads,’ Emma remarked.
‘And how is Baby P doing with all this activity going on?’ Freya questioned.
‘I thought I felt it move the other day but apparently, according to
this book I have, it’s far too early to feel movement. It was probably just wind, which I seem to have a lot of at the moment,’ Emma informed her.
‘Going to be jet propelled up that aisle are you?’ Freya joked.
‘I hope not,’ Emma replied with a laugh.
‘Better steer clear of the beans,’ Freya suggested.
‘I will. So what have you been doing with yourself since we last spoke?’
‘Which was yesterday,’ Freya reminded her.
‘Was it? Oh well, losing track of the days what with all the planning. Well, what have you been doing today?’ Emma asked.
‘Taking photographs of hot dog sausages,’ Freya responded with a yawn.
‘What? Oh the Friendly Shoppe promotional posters,’ Emma guessed.
‘Yes. I hope you haven’t forgotten that “there is always time to stop at a Friendly Shoppe”. Tomorrow it’s photographing the management team with someone dressed up as a corn on the cob,’ Freya told her.
‘It sounds fun,’ Emma responded.
‘Who for? Me? Or the desperately broke guy dressed up in the sweet-corn suit?’ Freya questioned.
‘I spoke to Nick today,’ Emma stated.
Freya felt a stabbing pain in her chest the moment his name was mentioned. It was ridiculous, it was just a name, but it evoked all sorts of memories and emotions and she immediately felt nauseous.
‘Oh,’ was the one reply she could manage.
‘He can’t make it to the wedding. Apparently he has all this promotional work to do with the film. Interviews and stuff that he can’t get out of,’ Emma informed her.
‘Well that’s showbiz,’ Freya spoke light-heartedly.
‘He asked for your number again. He always asks how you are and asks for your number Freya. I feel terrible not giving it to him,’ Emma stated.
‘What do you want me to do about it? I don’t make him phone you up. Tell him to stop bothering you if it’s that annoying,’ Freya commented.
‘You know that wasn’t what I meant. I just wish you’d speak to him that’s all. I wish you’d tell him the truth about that phone call from your father, because let’s face it, that’s the only reason you’re there and he’s in America. You had something good together and you still could,’ Emma continued.
‘I told you what my father said,’ Freya answered.
‘I know you did, but that was before you denied everything. Anyway I still think you should go to the police about it. He threatened Nick and he can’t get away with doing that to people,’ Emma spoke.
Freya didn’t respond immediately. She had never told Emma that her father had in fact threatened her too. Emma had enough to think about with the wedding and the baby. That was why denying everything had been unavoidable.
‘Em, he’s above the law, you know that. I did what was best for everyone concerned. This way no one gets hurt,’ Freya spoke.
‘Not physically perhaps, but Nick’s hurting. He obviously would never say anything, but I can tell and I know that things with you aren’t all that. Simon said you lock yourself in that dark room most days and don’t come out for hours,’ Emma continued.
‘You’ve been speaking to Simon. Well remind me to fire him for being indiscreet,’ Freya snapped.
‘Why don’t you call Nick and just speak to him? Explain about your father, tell him you love him, make this right again,’ Emma suggested.
‘He’s probably with Hilary by now. They’ve been in the paper together every other day,’ Freya remarked.
‘She’s admitted she has anorexia. There was a big article about it in the paper and she’s checking into an eating disorders clinic as we speak,’ Emma informed her.
‘Well I can’t say I’m surprised, but good for her. I hope it works. Look, I’d better go, I’ve got a pizza ordered and they’ll be here any minute,’ Freya spoke.
‘Freya I just want you to be as happy as I’m going to be on Saturday,’ Emma told her.
‘I know you do, but that’s a hard task because on Saturday I doubt there will be anyone in this world happier than you,’ Freya reminded her.
‘Everyone deserves happiness, no matter what your father may have told you,’ Emma insisted.
‘Well, perhaps it wasn’t just him. Maybe it just wasn’t right. You know me; I’m not a red carpet, smile at everyone, kind of person. Can you really imagine me having someone tell me how to look and another person to tell me what I can and can’t do? And never being able to puke up in public? It sounds all too like the life I had before - the one I set fire to,’ Freya said seriously.
‘Freya, I just…’ Emma began.
‘Anyway, I am happy. In my own unique “have takeaway and Dairy Milk be happy” kind of way. Ooo got to go, that’s the door. Listen, I’ll see you on Friday night for a few drinks before the big day,’ Freya spoke hurriedly.
‘Mr P is going to pick you up from the airport. I can’t wait to see you. Bye!’ Emma ended.
‘Bye,’ Freya replied and she ended the call.
Freya put the phone down on the coffee table and swallowed a lump in her throat. There was no one coming to the door.
Nicholas wasn’t coming to the wedding. It was probably for the best. Now she wouldn’t have to worry about feeling awkward or creating a situation that might interfere with Emma’s special day.
But she missed him. She missed talking to him, missed holding him, just generally missed him in her life. She picked up the pile of photographs from the coffee table and leafed through them until she found the one she wanted. It was Nicholas at Lake Korrison, smiling at the camera, looking happy and relaxed, his dark hair flecked by the sun. It had been the very first photograph she had taken with Claude.
And then she could no longer bear to look at the picture. She cried loudly, almost hysterically, hugging the photograph to her chest. She led down on the sofa and buried her face into the cushion. She hurt so much.
Thirty Six
‘Emma, you mustn’t move once you have the dress on, you do know that don’t you?’ Sue Barclay, Emma’s mother spoke as Emma sat in front of the dressing table, applying her make up.
It was the wedding day and Emma, Freya and Sue were in the room at the Calypso Apartments where Emma had spent the night. They had had a champagne breakfast and were now getting Emma ready for her impending marriage.
‘Yes Mum, I know I mustn’t move. But I need to put it on soon because I have to be ready when the wedding procession gets here - in less than half an hour. Half an hour! Is that right?’ Emma exclaimed, turning to look at Freya.
‘Yes, but half an hour is ample time to throw a dress on. Now sit still and let me finish this,’ Freya ordered, getting ready to attack her hair with another clip.
‘Emma, do keep still for Freya won’t you, because your hair has to be right. I remember when I married your father, I had this irritating little curl that just wouldn’t stay put and it was in all the photographs. It made me look like Medusa,’ Sue spoke.
‘Please get her out of here for a bit. I am going out of my mind with nerves and she’s making it worse,’ Emma whispered to Freya.
‘Oh my God! Sue, I completely forgot. I left Emma’s ‘something blue’ in my room. You couldn’t just pop and get it while I finish fixing her hair could you? I’m in room three six five. You won’t miss it. It’s blue and it’s on the bed,’ Freya spoke immediately.
‘Oh yes, of course. I won’t be long,’ Sue said and she hurried from the room, leaving the two friends alone.
‘Thanks Freya,’ Emma said with a sigh.
‘That’s OK. How are you doing? Feeling ready to become a married woman?’ Freya wanted to know.
‘Yes I do feel ready actually. I’m nervous, but only because I want everything to go smoothly. I have no doubts about Yiannis. I love him more than anyone could love anybody,’ Emma informed her.
‘You’re going to make me puke,’ Freya answered.
‘The dress looks lovely on you,’ Emma remarked as she looked at Fre
ya.
Freya was wearing the off-the-shoulder chocolate-brown bridesmaid’s dress Agatha had made.
‘Chocolate is definitely me, there is little doubt about that,’ Freya agreed.
‘So, today’s the day,’ Emma stated, smiling at her reflection in the mirror.
‘Yes, today’s the day I lose a girlfriend but gain a handsome Greek chap who can cook a mean meatball,’ Freya responded.
‘You haven’t lost me. I’ll always be here for you. Giving you advice when you don’t want it, forcing my opinions on you,’ Emma replied.
‘Giving me somewhere to stay when I’ve done a bunk,’ Freya added.
‘Sticking my nose in where it’s not wanted,’ Emma carried on.
‘Oh I don’t think you’ve ever been guilty of doing that,’ Freya responded.
‘Yes, well, all I want is the best for you,’ Emma told her.
‘I know - but why are we talking about me? Today’s your day and you’re the star of the show, so I think as soon as your mum gets back we should shoehorn you and the bump into the frock,’ Freya spoke.
‘Don’t say that! You’ll make me paranoid,’ Emma remarked.
‘Here we are! Something blue! Very naughty of you Freya!’ Sue announced as she burst back into the room waving a blue garter in the air.
‘Oh no! I might have known you’d get a garter,’ Emma remarked with a laugh.
‘Well I had to make sure you had something a little risqué to remind you of when you were a singleton and chased all the boys,’ Freya told her.
‘I never chased all the boys Mum, don’t listen to her,’ Emma exclaimed as she took the garter and pulled it up her leg.
‘When I married your father I had two garters - one on each leg. One was ‘something old’ because it’d belonged to my mother and the other was ‘something borrowed’ because I acquired it from the stripper on my hen night. You don’t want to know which part of his anatomy he was wearing it on either,’ Sue spoke with a loud guffaw of laughter.
‘It’s conjuring up some delightful images for me,’ Freya responded with a smile.
