by Carmen Reid
'Well . . . I'm not a proper business just yet,' Annie had to confess, 'not officially. I have a shop on eBay, I sell second-hand clothes, bags, shoes and discount things I've bought from the shop I work in.'
Mr B repeated 'eBay??' in a way that made it clear he didn't approve. 'Many, many bad bags on eBay,' he warned, shaking his head, 'fake! Not good quality,' and he leaned over to rub his finger and thumb against the strap of the caramel-coloured handbag closest to him to make his point.
'I know,' Annie agreed, 'but my eBay shop has a good reputation. 'Annie V's Trading Station'. My customers come back again and again because I sell good things. Maybe we can find my shop on your computer?' she offered, hoping that this would dispel any fears that Mr B might have that she was some kind of rogue trader.
Despite Dinah's eye-rolling and the fact that Billie had found a comfortable armchair and looked dangerously close to drifting off to sleep, Mr B directed Annie into the back office to search for British eBay on the internet.
It didn't take them long to locate 'Annie V's Trading Station' and once Mr B had scrolled down the range of things for sale, he at once understood that he was dealing with a saleswoman who understood fashion and quality.
'This is good, very good,' he told her, draping a very nice cashmere sweater over his shoulders against the slight evening chill.
Without taking his eyes from the screen, he rolled the end of one of the sleeves into the other, so they fell in a loose knot against his chest, as Annie watched in admiration. He'd probably been doing this since he was a teenager, so it was effortless, natural and so stylish.
'Nice sweater,' she complimented him and reached out to stroke the cashmere on his shoulder.
'You like?' he asked, shooting her a little sideways smile.
'Oh . . . I like, I definitely like,' Annie thought.
'Why you not in business for yourself?' Mr B asked. 'Your shop is wonderful, why you still work for The Store?'
'Good question,' she agreed. 'Why are you not selling your wonderful bags on the internet?'
He gave his raised hand shrug again. 'I think we must talk,' he said, swivelling his desk chair round to face her, 'I am looking for agent in London. Someone who work with me and sell my bags in London. Maybe you,' he pointed at her with the index fingers of both hands, 'maybe you, Mizz Annie, the person to do this with me?'
Annie could not believe her ears, could feel her smile stretching across from one side of her face to the other. The charming Mr Bellissimo, with his Aladdin's cave of beautiful bags, was throwing out an opportunity like this to her . . . And they'd only just met!
But it was funny, there were some people with whom you just clicked. Even though she and Mr B could not understand everything they tried to say to each other, she nevertheless believed that they understood each other perfectly and she could feel a fuzzy, happy surge of warmth spreading through her. She didn't think it was just the wine.
'Annie, we have to go!' Dinah called to her from the front of the shop.
'We must talk,' Annie agreed with Mr B, 'but I have to go back to the villa now, my sister and her little girl are really tired.'
'Yes,' he nodded sympathetically, 'But you come back here tomorrow – ' this was more of a statement than a question – 'in the afternoon? Then we talk about our business?'
'Yes!' she agreed happily. 'Fantastico! But I'm buying the Saint Laurent bag right now, just in case someone else takes it.'
When Annie, Dinah, Billie and all their purchases were finally loaded into Mario's silver saloon well after seven o'clock, Dinah asked suddenly, as if she'd just thought of them, 'What about Connor and Lana?'
'Oh yes!' Annie was ashamed to realize she hadn't thought of them once – and hadn't she said she would pick them up from the café at 6 p.m.?
'I'll try their mobiles, see if I can get a signal,' she told Dinah and then, to reassure herself more than her sister, she added, 'but you know, he's a big boy and a very sober one, so I'm sure he can look after himself and Lana. They've probably taken a taxi home by now.'
Annie tried her daughter's mobile but was put through to voicemail, so then she dialled Connor's number and heard the line ringing.
Finally, the phone was answered but when all she heard down the other end was a cheerful but very slurred: 'Hello . . . hello who ish thish? Oooops!' followed by a clatter and the line going dead, she suddenly wasn't quite so confident about Connor being Mr Responsible.
She looked over at Dinah and said with concern, 'That was Connor and he sounded completely smashed.'
'No way! He's so sanctimonious about drinking at the moment. There's no way. Have another go.'
The line rang again, but this time went through to voicemail.
'Connor, phone me!' was Annie's urgent message. 'Do you and Lana need a lift back to the villa? We're heading back to the car right now.'
When they reached their hire car back in the car park, the place was almost completely deserted. There were just a few motorbikes and Vespas parked in a corner by the kids who had come into the town centre for the evening.
Dinah, now weighed down by a sleeping Billie, decided to wait in the car once all the carrier bags and packages had been transferred into the boot by Mario. He was paid his forty euros by Annie, and of course he got a generous tip on top.
'I'll have to go out and have a look around for them,' Annie warned Dinah, 'I can't get them on their phones and Ed says they're not back at the villa.'
Ed, on the end of his mobile, had sounded exasperated. He hadn't been able to understand why the shopping party wasn't back yet, let alone why half of it seemed to be missing. 'What do you mean you're just going to go and look for Connor and Dinah?' he'd asked in surprise. 'Have you lost them? They're not gloves, you know! People don't usually cruise about town mislaying their daughter and their best friend! I need you back here,' he'd hissed, 'your aunty and I have completely run out of things to say about the weather.'
Annie hurried past several sedate cafés and restaurants where, for a Friday evening, it looked quiet. Only a few people were about, eating antipasti, or chilling out with espressos or glasses of wine.
But it didn't take her too long to find the raucous bar down a side street, where Connor was busy leading a group sing-along, while Lana was entertained at a table occupied by three very attentive Italian teen boys.
Annie marched straight up to Connor, took him by the arm and told him kindly but firmly that it was time to go home. She'd had plenty of experience dealing with Connor drunk. It was the strangely sober Connor she'd found tricky to handle.
Despite Connor's protests at the break-up of such a fun party, Annie and Lana took an arm each and led him outside into the fresh air.
'Hallelujah,' he declared once he was out of the bar, 'I am well and truly off the wagon. Think of all the drinking time I've been missing! I must have been out of my mind! I'd forgotten just how much fun it is to be trollied . . . wellied . . . plastered, stocious . . .' here, he looked dramatically up at the starry night sky, before calling out: 'and gloriously blootered!'
As they led him along the pavement, Connor continued, 'Hector says that everyone from Scotland knows fifty different words to describe how drunk they are. I have to phone him right now and tell him how clever they are!'
Connor fumbled his mobile out of his trouser pocket and promptly dropped it onto the pavement.
'Maybe tomorrow, babes,' Annie suggested, stooping to retrieve the phone for him.
'It's all a question of moderation!' Connor shouted out into the quiet side street. 'It's not all or nothing. It's a question of moderation!' With that, he tripped on a cobblestone corner, and if Annie and Lana hadn't had a firm grip on him, he'd have gone flying, right onto his pretty face.
Chapter Fifteen
Holiday Hilda:
Fuchsia pink kaftan (the 70s . . . the original 70s,
rather than another 70s revival)
White sandals (Van Dal)
Fuchsia pink lipstick
(Estée Lauder)
Prescription sunglasses (Boots)
Daily Mail (airport)
Wheelchair (NHS)
Total est. cost: £70
'I've seen that Jane Asher . . .'
It was approaching 9 p.m. when the people carrier finally rumbled up the dirt road towards the villa, which was ablaze with light. Annie wondered if Ed was pacing from room to room in annoyance.
They were late. Very, very late . . . much later than she had expected they would be and then there was the matter of the mountain of purchases in the back of the car. Annie was bracing herself for a heated debate with Ed because, once again, she had gone and spent well over two hundred pounds without discussing it with him.
There he was, coming out of the house, bounding over to the car, hair bouncing . . . a surprisingly big smile across his face.
'There you are!' he exclaimed, 'I was beginning to think I'd never see you again. Come on, come in.' He kissed Annie hello on the mouth. Clearly, he was so pleased, or maybe relieved, to see them again, he'd forgotten to be angry.
'Don't be shy,' he told her, 'however many thousands of pounds' worth of things you have in there, just bring them in. Bring them all in, hide them under our bed – if you can fit them under there – and tell me about it in the morning.'
This made Dinah laugh. 'You've no idea, Ed,' she said.
'Oh God,' Ed groaned, causing Annie to splutter, 'Dinah! Don't exaggerate!'
'Come on, I'll carry the stuff in for you. I won't moan, honestly,' Ed insisted and although he gave something of a double-take when he saw the mound of bags and packages in the back of the car, he just pinched Annie affectionately on the bum when she leaned in to pick up as many things as she could carry at once.
'I like you on holiday,' Annie told him from behind her armful of bags. 'Obviously we should go on holiday much more often.
'Oh yes,' Ed answered, 'I'm like a tomato. I improve in the sun. I'm definitely much more tasty in the sun.'
'And more red,' she couldn't help noting.
Once all the bags were unloaded and Owen had been greeted, Ed led them all out to the terrace where the table had been set with salads, bread, and lots of little dishes: olives, salami, sardines . . .
'Goodness me!' Aunty Hilda, already settled at the table, declared at first sight of them. 'And what time do you call this? Gallivanting about the countryside . . . you got lost, did you?'
'No, no, we're fine, thanks,' Annie told her, eyeing up the food and realizing how long it was since she'd eaten anything. 'Have you had a nice day?' she asked her great-aunt.
'Well . . . I suppose so,' came the grudging reply. 'I've not been able to get much out of your boy, though. He's a bit silent still, isn't he?'
When Owen began to turn red at this, and Annie threatened to turn nuclear, Connor, who'd sobered just slightly on the car ride, stepped in with, 'If it's a good gossip you're after, I'm your man', and cheerfully pulled up the chair next to the old dragon.
'Oh!' Aunty Hilda looked almost animated for a moment: 'I've seen that Jane Asher on your programme. She's lovely, isn't she?'
'No, no!' Connor dived straight in with the scurrilous gossip, 'Jane? No. She's a total nightmare, you wouldn't believe it. Fresh cream cakes in all the dressing rooms or she flounces straight off the set . . .'
Midway through the meal, Annie found herself looking around the table with pleasure. Owen and Lana were laughing over some joke together, and Aunty Hilda and Connor were still deep in conversation – he'd always had a thing for much, much older ladies. They were his core telly fan base, after all. With bread smeared in tomatoes and olive oil, Dinah was lovingly feeding Billie, who'd rallied following her nap in the car back to the villa.
It was noisy with chatter. The pool lights were winking in the water. It was still warm and tiny moths were flitting about the terrace. Finally Annie felt glad that she'd dragged them all out here. Despite the expense, despite the hassle, despite the travel sickness and not to mention the hangover Connor was going to have in the morning, for an evening like this, it was worth it.
And then she saw a forkful of food coming towards her.
'Try,' Ed, sitting beside her, commanded.
A grilled prawn, carefully peeled by him and smudged with a little garlicky sauce, was hovering at her lips.
She turned and let him put it into her mouth.
'Good?' he asked as she chewed and nodded.
She put her hand on his leg and squeezed gently. 'I think you're lovely,' she told him with a garlic blast.
'Oh good,' he said, 'we'll try and do something about that . . . when everyone else has gone to bed.'
'Are you glad we came out here?' she had to ask.
'Yeah.'
'It was a good idea then?'
'Your ideas are always good,' he told her with a teasing smile. 'Don't listen to anything I say from now on.'
'Oh really, I'll remind you of that . . .'
'When you're unpacking your shopping?' he interrupted.
'Exactly!'
Aunty Hilda was the first to head off for bed, complaining about eating so late and the hideous things that were bound to happen to her digestive system as a result.
Dinah took Billie off soon afterwards and Ed insisted that he and Lana would clear up, giving Annie the chance to spend some time with Owen.
'Get into your pyjamas, Owen and your mum will read to you for a bit,' Ed encouraged him and before Annie could even think about saying she didn't have time, he added quickly in her direction, 'Don't worry, it's an Alex Rider book. You're going to love it.'
Half an hour later, when Owen's story time was over and Annie had heard all about his day, kissed him thoroughly and turned out his light, she went back out into the terrace and found just Ed and a bottle of wine.
'Where's Lana?' she asked.
'I think she had some urgent texts to attend to.'
'Connor?'
'Locked in the bathroom . . . said he may be some time.'
'Ah.'
'You've driven the poor man to drink,' Ed couldn't help adding.
'Me? I wasn't even there!' Annie came over to stand behind Ed and ran her hands fondly over his shoulders.
'How about a walk?' he asked, taking hold of her arms: 'A little stroll, just you and I into the fig trees at the bottom of the road?'
'Sounds nice,' she agreed, 'sounds a little bit more fun than the sofa bed.'
'Definitely.'
As they walked hand in hand along the gravelly path which led from the villa to one of the little country roads, Annie had to talk about Mr B, his incredible handbags and his interest in finding someone to sell them in London.
Ed listened, leading her by the hand from the road and into a field where dry grass swished against their ankles as they walked.
'Do you know where we're going?' Annie asked.
'Oh yes,' he assured her, 'I saw this place earlier today with Owen and I wanted to come back with you.'
It was dark. Now that they were well away from the bright windows of the villa, they were relying on just the light of the pale half-moon in the sky to find their way through the velvety darkness.
'You should have brought a torch,' Annie told him.
