by Carmen Reid
'I have no idea what's going on,' he said.
'Yes you do,' she said, not quite so friendly herself any more, 'and maybe if you hadn't stormed off in a huff to your sister's you'd know more.'
'I would have moved to the spare room, but the spare room is full of shoes,' he exclaimed, 'not that I've ever been told anything about them!'
Ah.
'It's like living with a total fantasist,' Ed continued angrily, 'I don't know what's going to happen next. Maybe I'll go to the cash machine tomorrow and find there's no money in my account, it's all been used to buy belts. That's what's missing, isn't it? You've got a roomful of shoes, your Italian boyfriend is supplying the bags, all you need is the belts.'
Annie felt a terrible need to explode with laughter but she managed to keep it together. This was ridiculous.
'I've not touched a penny of your money,' she retorted. 'I would never do that.'
'What exactly is going on with you and that Maserati driving tosser?' Ed spat out.
'Oh, that's very mature!'
'Well, what are you doing with him?'
'This isn't hard, Ed: we're doing business together! He's going to sell me some bags!' Annie stormed. 'Why, what else did you think was going on? Just because someone bothers to iron their shirts . . .' her critical look didn't go unnoticed, 'doesn't mean I have to run away with them. In fact, how dare you suggest that—'
'I saw the two of you together,' Ed said, and although his voice was lower now, it was absolutely furious. 'I saw you. Do you understand?'
'No, I do not!' Annie was angry but she was also struggling to follow this. What was he getting at?
'I saw you!' Ed repeated. 'Do you need me to paint a picture? Your arms around him, his hand on your arse, your face sucking the life out of his.'
Oh dear God.
Annie instinctively knew that saying 'I had something in my eye, he was trying to get it out,' was not really going to work. She would have a job convincing herself with that line, let alone Ed.
'Jesus, Ed!' she began, her voice rising, 'I think you saw what you wanted to see there. That is not what happened. The guy's Italian and a bit flirty, we'd just agreed a deal and he moved in on me. Yes, I was caught a bit off guard, but there was nothing . . . absolutely nothing to it. No tongues, no face-sucking – ' suddenly she wanted to laugh again. This was just so childish. 'I can't believe you stormed all the way back to London over that . . .'
For a moment, Ed's face seemed to relax. Maybe he was going to laugh too. Maybe this was all going to be over in a moment.
'How completely immature,' she added and knew at once she'd pushed him too far.
'Oh for God's sake!' he snapped. 'If anyone's being immature, it's you. Shoes? Bags? Belts? A ten thousand pound tax bill? Are you out of your mind?'
And then Annie was listening to Ed offloading all his anxieties yet again: what a terrible risk this all was, and at the wrong time . . . putting their home and family life in jeopardy.
'Please, Ed,' Annie tried to reassure him, 'I wouldn't do anything to hurt us. I wouldn't risk our home. I'm good with money!' she insisted. 'I might overlook the odd bit of paperwork, but I'm great at selling! And I believe in this. I really do believe it will work . . .' She hated the pleading tone in her voice.
Even more, she hated the way he was making her feel as if she needed his permission. It just fired up her independence and her pride and made her want to charge off in her own direction without him.
Finally, they stopped talking and just stared at each other in exasperation because neither of them wanted to budge but they both knew there was no way they could split up over this.
Then Ed asked if it would be at all possible for her to put her idea on hold . . . just for a month or two. Just until she'd made a business plan, taken some samples round a few stores, made some proper connections.
Annie understood that this was a big shift. He was offering her the chance to go ahead but in a way he could be more comfortable with. She also understood that she should definitely agree. Agreeing would be a major breakthrough. Agreeing would probably solve everything, at least for the time being. Agreeing would definitely get Ed back into the house . . . tonight.
But she couldn't. The shoes couldn't be sent back to Hong Kong. The Italian bags were already on their way; in fact, they were supposed to have arrived this morning, before she left for work. And the meeting with Harrods was in the diary for Friday.
But there was Ed looking at her so intently, offering to back down, just needing her to meet him halfway.
'I could try and put things on hold,' she said and when she saw the relieved smile breaking out across his face, she added, 'That's probably not a bad idea.'
'Annie!' he reached out to put his arm over her shoulder, 'that's great! Please, I'd be so grateful and I don't think you'd regret doing this . . . planning it out a bit.'
She put her arm around his shoulder and pulled him in.
It was very nice to have him again, to be holding him tight like this, his hair brushing against her face, and she didn't care for a moment that it smelled of fried onions rather than lime cologne. It was so nice to have him back that she felt obliged to say, just to reassure him, 'I haven't ordered any bags from Italy yet. I'm sure that could wait.'
His lips were on hers and they were up on their feet so they could pull each other close together.
'I've missed you,' he was murmuring into her ear, 'I've really, really missed you. I thought you were going to leave me for Mr Maserati.'
'Will you stop it?' She squeezed her hands into his back pockets. 'Don't ever do that again.'
'What, spy on you while you snog Italians?'
'No! Don't ever go off to your sister's and not return any of my phone calls or I will be really, really angry with you.'
'Yes . . .' his hands were running busily down her back, around her sides, over her buttocks, 'I think I'd quite like that.'
'Boarding-school boy,' she whispered in his ear. 'I always suspected you'd like to be spanked.'
The clear tone of the doorbell rang out, causing them both to look in the direction of the hall.
'Who's that?' Ed asked. 'Are you expecting someone?'
'No. D'you want me to go?'
'No, I'll get it.'
As Ed set off down the hall, a terrible thought occurred to Annie . . .
'Hello,' the man at the door began, 'I've got a delivery for Ms Annie Valentine.'
'Right,' she heard Ed reply. And it was too late. There was nothing she could do about it now.
'Is she here? She'll need to sign, it's a consignment from Italy.'
'Ms Valentine,' Ed's voice sounded flat, 'you'll need to sign for your Italian bags.'
When she reached the hall, Ed had already taken his coat and scarf down from the hook and was putting them on.
'Don't go, Ed,' she said, looking at him with her most pleading expression.
'Don't lie then,' he snapped. Then, brushing past the delivery man on the doorstep, he headed out into the night. When Annie put her hands out for the clipboard, she saw that they were shaking.
When it was time to turn out Owen's light, Annie lay down on top of his duvet and snuggled against him for a few minutes.
This was usually their quiet chat time when they had a little talk about how the day had gone and shared a joke or two. Annie liked to make him kiss her on the cheek a few times, insisting, 'You've got to keep practising your kissing!'
'For my teenage years,' Owen would joke.
Tonight, neither of them said anything until finally Owen asked, 'Is Ed still going to come to my birthday party?'
'Of course,' Annie told him. 'I might be having an argument with Ed, but that doesn't mean that you have to.'
'I like Ed. He's funny,' came next.
And Annie suddenly had to sniff away tears.
'He was going to give me a really cool birthday present. We'd already talked about it.'
Annie ran her fingers through Owen's hair.
'What was the present?' she had to ask.
'The Celestron Firstscope 114 EQ,' came Owen's reply.
She had no idea what this was . . . or what it meant. Well, it meant one thing anyway, it meant that Ed knew Owen and knew just exactly what to get him (whereas she'd been thinking bike . . . he needs a bigger one . . . even though he hadn't ridden his small bike once in the past year).
'You don't have a clue what that is, do you?' he asked.
'Of course I know what that is!' she said with as much indignation as she could muster. 'The Celestron Firstscope 114 EQ. It's exactly what I was going to get you, so I'll tell Ed not to bother, shall I?'
'Mum!'
'Night-night sweetheart,' she told him, landing a kiss on his lips.
'Bet you're off to go and look that up on the internet, aren't you?'
'Do you think I should wax it right off or not?'
'I don't know . . . I don't care. What should I wear for the meeting?'
'Why are you asking me what you should wear?' Dinah's voice on the other end of the line sounded astonished. 'Can I just remind you what you do for a living?'
'Yeah, but I'm nervous, babes. I'm nervous. This is serious. This is walking into Harrods and trying to persuade them that I can supply them with expensive handbags.'
'You'll be fine,' Dinah said, with touching conviction. 'You'll be great!' she added. 'But c'mon, landing strip or take it right off?'
Party preparation was going into overdrive. Dinah was in danger of giving away that she knew all about Bryan's surprise party by over-prepping.
Somehow, touchingly, Dinah had got to the age of thirty-five without getting anywhere closer to extreme waxing than the standard bikini line. No beautician had yet instructed Dinah to 'put your leg around my back'. But she was considering the all-off as a 'surprise' for Bryan.
'Ten years of marriage,' she'd told Annie, 'there are a few new things we have to try, really.'
'You owe it to yourself,' Annie agreed: 'take it all off. Who wants a little Hitler moustache left down there anyway? Just don't be surprised if the beautician asks you to turn over.'
'NO!! I don't need to know that! I really don't!'
'Sometimes, you can be too prepared,' Annie had to admit.
'It is 11.30 p.m. and I'm taking it you are still on your own . . .' Dinah began to broach the difficult subject of Ed with her sister once again.
'He was here earlier,' Annie told her, 'but my Italian collection arrived and that sent him out of the door again.'
'Ah . . . I think you should go round there.'
'To his sister's?'
'Yes.'
'No,' Annie said, 'not tonight.'
'You haven't done anything,' Dinah wondered, 'I mean, you haven't given him any real reason to be this furious with you, have you? I mean, apart from buy a whole load of dodgy luxury goods?'
'Oh ha-ha. Of course I haven't done anything! Apart from try to get myself a better job. Why is that so terrible and threatening to him?'
'Why would a perfectly sensible and tasteful architect be planning a surprise tenth wedding anniversary party with a ceremony. Men are strange. The older they get, the more peculiar they go.'
'Oh great! We have just so much to look forward to then.'
The very first pair of glossy magenta and gold Timi Woos on Annie's eBay store looked like they were going to close down at £111 for the first pair . . . then there was a little last-minute flurry . . . £122, 124, 128, 131 . . . going, going, gone for £131.
Blimey!
Not only that, but every one of the losers emailed her within the next ten minutes to ask if she had more and in different sizes and colours.
Yes, yes, yes, were her replies.
Just ninety-nine pairs to go.
And the Celestron Firstscope, she'd looked that up too. It was a telescope 'suitable for beginner astronomers', priced £120.99. Good present, she couldn't help thinking, a little resentfully.
Chapter Twenty-five
Accessories purchasing manager:
Light grey trouser suit (Chloé)
Ruffled cream silk blouse (Dior)
Plum wedges (Hobbs)
Vicious snarl (model's own)
Total est. cost: £980
'Nice lining.'
Operation Harrods started with a hiccup or two. The children slept in, so Annie had to chivvy them to the kitchen table and force cornflakes down their throats, even though she was too nervous to eat herself.
'I have a meeting at 10 a.m.!' she kept wailing at them, 'you have to be out of here, gone! We all have to be on our way. I have to get my head together.'
She raced around the house in a flurry, trying to decide which of the bags to take. Three . . . she'd decided three was a good number. Or four? Was four better? Five?
All the cab numbers she tried were busy, or promising a car in 'about forty minutes, maybe sooner'.
'Just go by tube,' Lana told her. 'It'll be much quicker.'
'Tube! I'm a business mogul.'
'Mum, you're a lady selling bags . . .' Lana contradicted her scornfully, 'a bag lady.'
On her most sober high heels, Annie trotted at speed to the tube station. It was a good fifteen-minute walk down a steep hill, hot enough for the little grey jacket over her painstakingly chosen cream and black dress to have to come off.
Inside the carriage, the teeming throng of the rush hour Northern Line was upon her. Two cheeky-looking black twin schoolgirls were giggling together on the seats Annie would have killed for.
They looked about ten or eleven. Hair tamed in careful rows of braids, white school polo shirts setting off their bright smiles as they drank from little juice cartons and did more mischievous giggling.
Annie looked away from them and into the sea of humanity crammed at wonky angles into the belly of the tube train.
'Excuse me,' one of the twins suddenly seemed to be saying to her, 'we're getting off here, d'you want a seat?'
'Oh! That's very kind!'
What a sweet little face this girl had, with dimples in her cheeks when she smiled.
Annie swung round so that her legs were pressed against the seat they had vacated, guarding it from any other weary passenger. She watched the two girls approach the door, then just as she sat down, she saw them hop merrily out of the train. It took a moment or two for the Ribena on the carefully sabotaged chair to soak through Annie's dress. She looked frantically out of the window after the girls and saw their grins spread. As they saw her glaring at them, they began to laugh.
Annie stood up immediately, but it was already too late. She couldn't see, but she could feel the large blackcurrant stain. Drat. Damn. Bollocks. Crap. What was she supposed to do now? She looked at her watch. There was no way she could phone and tell them she'd been delayed. That would just be so unprofessional. It would take ages to go home and change.
