I could hear Adam and his grandfather laughing at some dire television show downstairs. The voiceover kept repeating the moments before an air crash in a never-ending re-enactment like a harbinger of doom. I couldn’t help but think it sounded like the soundtrack to my life.
Adam seemed to have cheered up and become almost human again since I’d had the talk with Mr Henderson. He still closeted himself in his room with his homework (yeah, right), his cellphone and the internet, but he’d been able to hold a reasonable conversation with me for two nights in a row and was far less grumpy and on edge.
The talk with Mr Henderson will not go down in my autobiography as one of my finest moments. Going into bat for one’s offspring, I realised afterwards, tends to make one either highly offensive or defensive and I managed to be both, in quick succession, especially at the hint that Adam might have brought some of the verbal attacks on himself by being a smart alec. My son a smart arse? Surely not!
But at least I’d come out of the meeting with a commitment from Mr Henderson that the bullying would stop and there would be no retribution against Adam. Just how he was going to achieve this was beyond me, but I figured that was why he’s the teacher and I’m not. It occurred to me as I left, though, that I should have been able to figure out a solution — after all, I dealt with issues like this all the time at work. But there’s something about being in a school that strips you of all your years of experience and turns you back to an inarticulate, awkward schoolgirl, simpering for help. Feeling like that while knowing I was actually a darn sight older and no doubt heavier than the teacher did little to boost my flagging self-esteem.
With Adam’s troubles out of the way, at least for now, I turned my thoughts to Dad. He’d been in a real funk when he first came home, Adam said, and by the time I got in from work it had abated only slightly. The dratted Mr Jamieson seemed to be the cause once again.
‘I don’t blame her. I blame that Jamieson fellow,’ he said when I asked him what the problem was. He turned to me, his eyes pleading. ‘I can’t bear seeing her like that, giving him the eye. Maybe I should stay away for a while.’
I didn’t have the faintest how to deal with this problem either, especially on a Friday when I was in overdrive from a busy week and trying to make myself look ten years younger and ten pounds lighter all in the space of ten minutes.
‘It’s up to you, Dad. I honestly don’t know what’s right for you and Mum. If it upsets you, perhaps you shouldn’t go for a few days and see how you feel then.’
I filled the dog bowl with food for Tigger, who’d been following me since I got home with his usual pleading look, and made a vague attempt to clean up the kitchen bench before flinging the necessities into my bag, remembering to collect the cellphone off the charger and running back upstairs to retrieve my lipstick. That’s when I saw myself in the full-length mirror and realised I looked like a black mamba that had swallowed all the balls in a bowling alley.
I flung open the wardrobe door and searched through the possibilities once more, pulling out a couple of my more glamorous skirts and finding suitably posh tops to go with them. The first skirt was halfway up my legs and trying to stretch itself round my hips when the doorbell rang. Damn! I should have known Simon would be more or less on time.
Leaving Adam to answer it, I wriggled and pulled at the skirt, wrestling it over my hips and around my waist, whereupon it refused to do up. The damn thing must have shrunk a size on the hanger.
Making a mental note to start the ten-day, fool-proof, fun-free diet I’d read about in a magazine earlier in the week, I wrenched the stupid shrinking skirt off again and tried the other one. The doorbell rang again. Double damn! Obviously Adam and Dad were so engrossed in the endlessly recurring plane crash that they either hadn’t heard the bell or were ignoring it. I ran to the top of the stairs, pulling up the zip and tugging the skirt around as I went.
‘Adam, can you please get the door!’ I yelled.
No answer. Triple damn! There was no way I could run downstairs and welcome Simon with no top on.
‘Adam!’ I yelled louder.
I heard him clomping towards the front door. Relief! Rushing back to the bedroom, I tried on the hot pink top I’d originally bought to match the skirt, decided it looked frightful and tried another. It was a lot better, but now my shoes were the wrong colour. I pulled out the shoes that were supposed to go with the skirt and ran downstairs in my stockinged feet, nearly sliding over on the landing, and clamped the shoes on when I got to the bottom. Only then did I remember that the last time I’d worn them they’d nearly crippled me, which was why they’d been at the back of the wardrobe and hard to find. Damn again! You know you’re getting older when you seriously consider wearing slippers out.
But it was too late to change. Simon had heard me descend and called out, ‘Hey, Penny, we’re in here.’
‘Just coming,’ I called, checking myself in the hall mirror. No smudges under the eyes, thankfully; no lipstick on the teeth. I’d just have to put up with the shoes and aim to spend as little time standing as possible. I figured I could bid at the auction sitting just as easily as standing, and we were getting a taxi there and back so I wouldn’t have to walk far.
Simon was comfortably sitting with Dad and Adam, describing his forthcoming trip to Turkey, but he stopped when I came into the room.
‘Hi, Penny. You look ravishing,’ he said, standing up and giving me a welcoming kiss.
‘Thank you,’ I said, kissing him back. ‘Don’t let me interrupt.’
He grinned. ‘I wouldn’t want to upset you by talking about it.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I said, forcing a laugh. ‘I’m going to have to get used to the idea. I can’t be in denial for the next two and a half months.’
He gave me a knowing look. ‘Adam says I should start a blog when I’m away, so he can keep up with what I’m doing.’
‘Yeah, it’d be great. There’s a couple guys in my science class who are into marine biology too. We could all talk online. I wish I could go too. It’d be so cool.’
‘Me too,’ I said ruefully. ‘The Mediterranean, at this time of year.’ I gestured towards the window, outside which the wind could be heard howling. ‘Who wouldn’t?’
‘It’s cold out there, all right,’ Simon agreed. ‘Have you got a jacket?’
‘Oh, I’ll go get one,’ I said, turning and running upstairs. Halfway up I winced. These damn shoes had better mould themselves to my feet pretty damn quick!
The only evening jacket I had was black. I shrugged it on, ignoring the front button’s reluctance to do up. It didn’t sit too well atop the fluffy, flouncy evening skirt with its cream net frill trailing almost to the ground but there simply wasn’t time to find another outfit that would a) live up to Ginny’s exacting standards and b) fit around my waist. Unless I went back to the LBD …
‘Do you need a hand up there?’ Simon called up the stairs.
‘Just coming.’
He grinned when he saw me coming back down. ‘How long does it take to put on a jacket?’ he chuckled.
‘Ah, there’s one crucial step you missed out,’ I laughed, ‘and that’s finding the jacket in the first place. And finding the right jacket is even harder.’
‘I’ve never been able to fathom how women take such a long time to get dressed. But now I understand. You need the time to achieve that unplanned look of spontaneous beauty!’
‘No, actually, we’re just hoping that by the time we emerge our date has aged enough to develop cataracts,’ I replied with a smile.
• • •
Ginny, as expected, had outdone herself in the glam department. She’d hired rent-a-crowd — a bunch of university students pretending to be celebrity spotters — who spilled across the pavement and onto the street. As our taxi edged past them and drew up outside the red carpet in front of the faded facade of the St James Theatre, a blizzard of flash bulbs went off as the so-called paparazzi took our pictures. Simon looked taken
aback.
‘It’s okay, you won’t end up in the gossip pages,’ I whispered. ‘They’re photography students hired by Ginny for the effect.’
‘Thank God for that,’ Simon whispered back, then joined me in hamming it up for the cameras.
‘But he’s from High Society,’ I added, pointing out a tall, completely bald, snooty-looking fellow in horn-rimmed glasses. Simon immediately stopped waving like royalty. ‘And she’s from Metropolitan.’ The woman in question was waiting at the end of the red carpet, notebook at the ready. Simon visibly swerved to avoid her. ‘It’s okay, she won’t be interested in us. We’re nobodies, I’m afraid. She’s after the names, darling. The celebs. You know — TV people, frock designers, people who are famous for being famous.’
‘Not marine biologists, then?’ Simon feigned disappointment.
‘Afraid not. Unless you’re Jacques Cousteau.’
‘Bit late for him now.’
The Metropolitan woman looked Simon up and down as if to say, should I know you? I smiled at her and swept on by, doing my best Lauren Bacall impression — rich, famous and not the least interested in insignificant reporters from the local gossip tabloid.
Inside the theatre doors, Ginny had a team of coat-check girls dressed in excruciatingly high heels, fishnets and tails over what looked like skimpy black bathing costumes. Waiters — also in tails, worn over tight black shorts, fishnets and heavy biker boots — were serving champagne cocktails.
‘You’ll have to tell me who the celebrities are,’ Simon whispered, taking a glass and passing it to me. ‘I wouldn’t know a movie star from the weather girl.’
‘Don’t you want one of these things?’ I indicated the foaming flute.
‘Wouldn’t touch it with a bargepole. Last time I had one of those, I was comatose by dinner time.’
‘Well, there isn’t a dinner time tonight. Just finger food.’
‘In that case, my restraint is well called for.’
‘Here’s to being comatose,’ I said, raising my glass and taking a sip.
‘Look, there’s that rugby star — what’s his name?’
‘Don’t ask me,’ I laughed. ‘I’m the last person who’d know.’
‘And isn’t that …’ Simon scratched his head, looking around in amazement. ‘Hey, you weren’t wrong, Penny. This is quite an event. If only I could remember their names.’
‘That’s an actor from Shortland Street,’ I proffered. ‘But I have to admit I don’t know his name either.’
‘And that’s the fellow who does that current affairs show.’
‘Yes, and there’s the weather girl you were hoping to see!’ I grinned. ‘It’s a veritable parade of minor celebrities. Over there, that’s the couple who come to all these charity auctions and spend up large each time. And that man in the corner, the one behind the weather girl, he owns the most expensive real estate in the central city. Ginny has done well.’
We stood for a moment at the foot of the curved staircases and took it all in, my feet aching from the wheel clamps masquerading as shoes.
‘Come on, let’s go upstairs,’ I said, taking his arm. ‘We’ll get a much better view from up there.’
Simon looked around anxiously. ‘Actually, I’d like to go somewhere quiet for a moment first,’ he said, fumbling in his pocket.
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like a drink?’ I said, spying one of the androgynous waiters with a tray of beer. I sensed Simon had an announcement of some sort to make and I wasn’t too sure I wanted to hear it. Anything to delay the moment.
‘Oh, okay,’ he said, absentmindedly grabbing a glass. ‘How about we go over there?’ He pointed to a dark corner down the ornate semi-circular stairs, away from the bar, and continued to fumble around in his pockets as if trying to find something. I let him steer me away from the crowd then stood sipping nervously at my drink, wondering what it was he had to say.
‘I’ve got a proposition to put to you,’ he said as I picked my way down the stairs, being careful not to trip over my trailing net skirt.
Holy shit, I thought. I hope this is not what I think it is. I mean, Simon’s a lovely guy, well and truly house-trained, could even be called a metrosexual on a good day — understanding, sensitive, yet capable of pushing a heavy horsebox around as if it’s a paperweight. But no way was I ready to consider a proposal of marriage: I was still getting over Steve, for starters. I began to feel panicky. Was this ‘proposition’ his klutzy way of asking me to marry him? Was he about to embarrass me in front of the town’s richest and most famous by getting down on his knees and making a tit of himself? Not now, I silently pleaded. Not for a long time yet. No!
I made sure we were well into the far corner and partly hidden by a large pillar, then leaned against it for security. I would cheerfully have run a mile, if it weren’t for the shoes I was wearing. (That and the fact that these days my run is really a waddle — not very glamorous.) I turned to face him, dreading what he was going to say.
‘I’ve been doing a lot of emailing and asking a lot of people if it’s okay,’ he started.
‘You asked other people?’ I squeaked. This didn’t auger well. A chap shouldn’t have to ask all and sundry if he can pop the big question.
‘Yes.’ He looked a bit taken aback. ‘Of course. I had to get permission.’
I gulped. ‘Permission? Whose permission?’
‘The people on the boat. In Turkey. I had to check with them if it was all right for you to come for a bit. And it is. The expedition leader said it would be okay if you came over for the last week or two. Would you like that? Would you like to come?’
He was grinning broadly now, that big, lazy, sexy smile that had me turning weak at the knees at the best of times. But with an offer like that as well! If I was a swooner, I’d have been flat on the floor right then and there.
‘You could meet me in Marmaris and spend a few days on shore, getting to know the place, doing a bit of shopping or whatever while we tally up our work. And then we’ll spend some time on the boat. What do you say?’
‘Yes,’ I breathed, as if it had indeed been a marriage proposal and feeling just a tad sad that it hadn’t been. ‘Oh, yes. I’d love to come.’
Chapter 12
The rest of the night went by in a blur; I even forgot about my corseted feet! I was in such a dither I could hardly focus on the auction, and I managed to bid the first item up so high I had Ginny beaming with pleasure — until I misjudged the one remaining bidder’s enthusiasm and ended up buying the package myself. Just what I was going to do with ten tickets to Mamma Mia and a swanky cocktail party beforehand I had no idea. If it had been a membership to a rifle range where I could learn to shoot off Steve’s willy that would have at least been useful!
I looked pleadingly at Ginny, whose smiles had turned to a mega-frown, then the auctioneer moved on to the next item — a day out on the harbour in a luxury yacht, with lunch provided by a trendy restaurant. I kept my bidding paddle by my side. My initial blunder had given me such a fright I was reluctant to bid for anything, despite Ginny’s pleading looks. It was only when Simon started to bid himself that I came to my senses and focused properly on the event, stopping my mind wandering over all the possibilities of the southern coast of Turkey and the exotic-sounding town of Marmaris. I’d been thinking ‘How can I find several thousand dollars in four weeks?’ and ‘How can I get time off work?’ and ‘What will I do with the kids?’ and ‘What will I do about Mum?’ and ‘Hah! Won’t Stephanie get a surprise when she hears about this!’ Vistas of azure seas and white-domed rooftops and billowing sails kept popping in front of my eyes, like something out of a travel brochure. I started calculating how I could lose ten kilos in a month so I wouldn’t look like a white blancmange stretched out on the deck of the research boat, and made a mental note to book a spray tan as soon as I’d booked the flight. Which brought me back in a neat circle as to how on earth I was going to afford it all — especially as I’d just managed to bid an
exorbitant sum for an entirely superfluous night out at Mamma Mia with nine friends. I wondered if Ginny would take pity and let me put it down as a business expense.
My resolve to lose weight, however, was immediately broken when I accepted another cocktail from a passing waiter — who could refuse a fellow with such good legs? — and, from another waiter, a canapé comprised of a seared scallop atop lemon sauce inside a mini ice-cream cone. I was absolutely starving, I realised, which wasn’t surprising since it was well after eight o’clock. And the seafood cone was to die for.
The canapés kept coming thick and fast and I quickly realised that the crash diet would have to start tomorrow. Besides, I reasoned, I’d already started on the seafood diet — see food and eat it.
Simon missed out on his bid for a romantic weekend for two at a nearby island hideaway — which was just as well, given our imminent trip to islands much further afield — and we left as soon after the auction was over. Ginny pronounced the evening a success, raising more than she’d budgeted, and congratulated me on my winning bid.
‘You got caught out there, Penny. That’s not like you.’
‘I know. I’m a bit distracted tonight.’
‘I thought as much. Anything in particular on your mind?’
I grinned and looked at Simon, then back at her. ‘It’s a secret until Monday. I’ll tell you then.’
‘Aren’t you the mysterious one? I’ll look forward to hearing all about it.’ She gave me an obvious wink.
I nearly told her then and there but decided it best to wait for the formal arena of the Monday-morning meeting to float the idea of two or three weeks’ leave. Plus I knew that if I mentioned it now it would be all around the theatre before I’d reached the exit.
‘Lord knows what we’ll do with tickets to Mamma Mia,’ I said, switching the subject back to my breach of auction etiquette. ‘We’ve all seen it before.’
‘Perhaps we could take some clients out for the night,’ she said, giving me another obvious wink. ‘I’m sure Tracey will allow it as a business expense.’
Head Over Heels Page 11
