by Adele Parks
‘So Mia is the problem.’
‘She seems to do her utmost to make me feel inadequate. I am so sick of listening to her historical anecgloats! I feel I’m marrying into a mafia.’
Lloyd chuckled, ‘That’s exactly what Sophie used to say. She was always making jokes about finding a horse’s head on her pillow.’ Tash didn’t see the joke. ‘We’re mates, though, aren’t we?’ asked Lloyd.
Tash looked at him and smiled. ‘Yes, we are,’ she confirmed. Tash patted Lloyd’s leg, pecked him on the cheek and stood up, ‘I’ve said and drunk too much. I’m going to bed to sleep this off. Good night.’
‘Night.’ Tash strode through the snow. It crunched under her new pink, fluffy boots. ‘Nice boots,’ called Lloyd.
‘Thanks,’ yelled Tash back into the blackness; she was already fifty yards away. She ground her footprints into the snow. Bloody Rich hadn’t even noticed them. Barbara Cartland pink, furry, knee-high boots, and he hadn’t even noticed them. What was he thinking of? Tash wondered if she had the courage to ask. The pitch darkness helped. Lloyd wouldn’t be able to see her humiliation.
‘Lloyd?’
‘Yes?’
‘Do you think there is anything going on between Rich and Mia?’
‘Hah. Good God, no.’
Tash grinned, cheered by the emphatic answer, and went on her way.
Lloyd listened to the sound of her feet scrunching through the fresh snow. He listened until the scrunching died away, then he listened to the silence of the black night and the huge Alps. Lloyd couldn’t decide if he was simply very, very drunk, but he felt strangely buoyed up, almost elated. This was twice on this trip when he’d set out to offload some of his problems and found himself in the position of confidant. It felt rather good. He felt important and needed.
Lloyd wondered if he should make his way back to the hotel, too. It wouldn’t do to get so drunk that he passed out. He’d get hypothermia.
49. Kiki
‘She’s cute, her. Look over there.’ Jason was pointing towards a mass of girls on the dance floor. They looked to Mia as though they all still read Just 17, i.e. about thirteen years old. They still had flawless skin and puppy fat, most of which was on show because they all wore very short skirts and tiny, strappy tops.
‘Which one? They all look alike,’ Mia moaned. She was bored with indulging Scaley Jase in his game of pointing out ‘cheeky chicks’. She actually wanted him to stop looking around the bar and look at the girl who was standing right next to him.
‘That one there. The one with bra-strap-length hair.’
Sometimes it wore a little bit thin, the constant sexual innuendos. Mia wasn’t prudish, but there had been a couple of occasions when she’d thought it would have been more agreeable, more grown up, if Scaley Jase didn’t insist on commenting on the tits or buttocks of every girl he came into contact with, every pop star snapped in magazines and even the cartoons pictured on the rude postcards.
‘Can’t you just say shoulder length like everyone else?’
she grumbled.
‘No, it’s not as horny.’
‘And that’s the be-all-and-end-all is it, what’s horny?’
‘Well, it is important.’ Jase grinned. ‘I’m looking for some action between the sheets. Of course I’m looking for someone foxy to play with.’
‘What about what’s real?’ asked Mia, exasperated, but Jason wasn’t listening to her as he was offering to buy someone a drink. The girl at the receiving end of his attention was unlikely to be older than twenty. She wore very heavy, dark eyeliner and layer upon layer of mascara. It was a wonder she could open her eyes with the weight.
‘The nightlife here is entirely seaside resort,’ moaned Mia.
‘I know. It’s fantastic, isn’t it?’ Scaley grinned, missing her point.
‘I preferred the bar we were in last night,’ she shouted above the noise. Jason shrugged and started to hum the chorus of ‘YMCA’, which was currently playing. Mia marvelled. Jason was normally so London. He usually spent his time in the most chic and groovy clubs in town. He had private membership to Home and Soho House (which Mia had always found confusing and which had led, on one occasion, to her waiting for him at Home when he was at the House – such poor planning to have the names of two of London’s most coveted private members clubs being so similar; she wondered whom she should write to to complain). How could he be happy knee-deep in cheese and tack? She had forgotten that last night she’d believed that it did not matter where you were, just who you were with. Her limited supply of patience was quickly being spent. She had seen Jayne off, she’d accepted the inevitability of Jason indulging in a quickie with the busty bottle-blonde, but enough was enough. When was he going to notice her? What did she have to do? Strip naked and tattoo ‘Take me’ across her boobs?
Jason paid for the drink, then started up a conversation. The girl was Dutch. Scaley Jase became visibly more excited when she revealed this. He clearly thought that because sex workers were legal in Holland every woman born there was more likely to be open to the weird and wonderful. After a few minutes of pleasantries, the girl picked up her drink and walked back to her gang of friends.
‘Crashed and burned?’ asked Mia, hardly able to keep the joy out of her voice.
‘On the contrary,’ smiled Jason. He folded up a beer mat and slipped it into his jeans pocket. ‘She gave me her apartment details and told me I should swing by at about eleven for a few drinks with her and some of her friends.’
‘She did what?’ asked Mia, amazed. ‘You’d only been talking to her for two minutes.’
‘That’s my fatal charm,’ confirmed Jason.
‘But you could have been anyone. You could be a rapist or a murderer. What was she doing giving you her details so quickly. She must be brainless.’
‘I expect she knows how to look after herself. Besides, I’m not a rapist or a murderer,’ pointed out Jase.
Mia huffed crossly. She felt old. But, then, even when she was young she couldn’t remember being so idiotically trusting. Jason could see that Mia was upset and so tried to reassure her.
‘I let her see my platinum card. It happens all the time.’
‘What?’ He’d failed. Mia’s disquiet turned to fury. ‘Are you saying that the girl is only interested in you because she knows you are rich?’
‘Well, I like to think I’m great company, too, but as you pointed out she hardly had time to find that out. Mia, don’t sweat it, she’s a certain type of girl. She wants a good time, and she knows I can pay for it. It’s all just a bit of fun. I tell you, that girl will be able to handle herself.’
At that point their conversation was interrupted. A small, plump girl approached Jason. She wore her hair in a blunt, raven bob, except for her fringe, which was scarlet.
‘I saw you flashing your money about, mate. You don’t want to be wasting your time on those foreign birds, they never follow through. All Catholics are prick teases. Now, mine’s a Malibu and Coke. The liquid variety, that is, unless you have something else to offer.’
The girl winked and laughed. Her laugh was deep and gravelly. She was clearly confident that Jason would buy her a drink, which he did.
‘Actually, she was Dutch and the Dutch aren’t an especially Catholic nationality, even if your stereotype about Catholics were correct,’ said Mia snootily.
She really wished Jason wouldn’t waste their time by messing around with this sort of girl. Mia had to admit she had a pretty face, big smile and large, brown eyes, but she needed to cut back on the pies and, in any case, she was clearly very common.
‘Whatever.’ The girl didn’t feel it was necessary to talk to Mia. She looked like someone’s mother, she was unlikely to have a platinum credit card and, even if she did, she would not buy the Malibu.
Mia stuck by Jason for another hour. She didn’t join in their conversation, which was mostly about bands she hadn’t heard of and TV programmes she didn’t watch. She loathed reality TV and pri
ded herself on the fact that she hadn’t ever watched a single episode of Big Brother. The girl’s conversation was depressingly predictable, mostly about how she ‘got right fookin’ smashed and vommed everywhere’. Mia suggested they all dance because at least that way she wouldn’t have to listen to the ridiculous chatter. Unfortunately, at the moment Mia made the suggestion, the tempo of the music changed to a slow, romantic number. Jason grabbed the hand of the Malibu and Coke girl and led her on to the tiny dance floor.
Mia was left alone propping up the bar. Her body ached from the boarding bruises, and her head ached with what felt like the onset of a hangover. She hadn’t even been drinking. Slowly her optimism eked away. She had begun this evening so sure of her plan. She’d been convinced that the photos had done the trick. For a while Jason had looked at her in, well, a different way than normal. More intensely, more carefully. He’d talked to her all evening, and they hadn’t stopped laughing. Even when they were arguing it had been fun. (He was wrong about the Finlay Quaye lyrics. He needed his hearing tested.)
Mia watched as Jason and the girl crawled all over one another. She had seen Scaley Jase dance with countless women. She had seem him emerge dishevelled from women’s bedrooms the morning after the night before. She had been privy to endless stories of his conquests; it wasn’t as though his provocative dancing really marked anything different from everything she’d seen before.
And yet.
Yet.
She felt odd.
She felt sad. Weary and disappointed. Clearly if Scaley slept with this floozie tonight instead of her, her chances of conceiving were obliterated, but it was more than that. She was too good for this. She shouldn’t be standing on the sidelines of a dance floor waiting for a drunken ex to notice her again. And Jason was too good for this. He shouldn’t be dancing with a girl whose fingernails, eyelashes and boobs were fake.
Jason came back to the bar. ‘Do you remember where I left my jacket?’ he asked. Mia pointed to the floor. Their jackets were rolled into tight balls and shoved under a bar stool.
‘Are you leaving?’ she asked.
Jason slid his arm into his jacket sleeve, ‘Oh, yeah, I think my luck’s in.’
‘Of course it is, she was hardly going to present a challenge,’ snapped Mia. Jason didn’t reply.
‘Kiki has just gone to get her jacket. You can walk back to the hotel with us if you like, or are you planning on staying here for a bit longer?’
‘Kiki?’
‘It’s not her real name.’
‘Thank heaven for that.’ Mia bent down to pick up her jacket. Not even her own name. How could he ever get close to someone if the people he cavorted with didn’t even know who they were? Sunday had been Jayne. Monday, the busty blonde. Tuesday, Kiki. With every day and every lay, Mia saw her chances of conceiving recede.
She was going to have to revisit the idea of a sperm donor. Her plan was preposterous. Jason wasn’t fit to be a father, even in the most perfunctory sense. He was still a child himself. She would accept the offer of an escort back to the hotel, order a hot chocolate and then read the next chapter of her novel. She would not demand, ‘Jason, how could you sleep with a woman like her?’
Whoops, it just sort of popped out.
‘And how is she, exactly, in your opinion, Mia?’ Jason asked with irritation. Even if Mia hadn’t been expecting to pour scorn on the situation, Jason had been expecting her to do so. Sometimes he knew her better than she knew herself.
‘Well, she can barely string a sentence together. The only view she expressed all evening was that Diet Coke makes Malibu taste “fookin’ orrid”, and her idea of a discussion on current affairs is saying that she likes Posh’s hair extensions.’
‘I’m not looking for great debate,’ smiled Jason. Was Mia jealous?
‘She’s stupid. It’s demeaning. The people you choose to have sex with say something about the type of person you are.’ Mia was surprised to find herself quoting Tash.
‘She’s not stupid, she’s very street savvy. Besides,’ he added, with an annoyed shake of his head, ‘I just want a shag, and it may come as a surprise to you but stupid people, as you call them – poorly educated people, as I prefer to see them – have fantastic sex, too, you know. It’s the great leveller. They possibly have even better sex than you do because, more often than not, they swallow.’
‘How do you know whether I swallow or not?’
‘I remember.’
Mia froze. In the thirteen years since they split up neither one of them had ever alluded to the fact that they once were boyfriend and girlfriend. The rest of the gang openly talked about what a great couple they’d been, but Scaley Jase and Mia had studiously avoided the subject. It had seemed to be the only route to take if they wanted to remain friends. And they did want to remain friends. Neither of them could imagine a world where they weren’t in each other’s lives.
‘Oh, do what you like,’ said Mia. She grabbed her coat and stomped out of the bar, not waiting for the escort back to the hotel.
‘I always do,’ Jason replied to the empty space she left behind her.
50. Kate’s Response
‘I love you,’ he said.
‘I know you do,’ sighed Kate. She’d never doubted that. Ted stared at the top of Kate’s head because she refused to look up and meet his gaze.
‘I’ll go immediately. I’ll get right out of your life. I understand I’ve made a terrible mess of things and you can’t be expected to forgive me, or live with it. I’ll go.’
‘Go where?’ asked Kate.
Ted raked his hand through his hair, ‘Er, I haven’t thought about that. My parents. Anywhere. Out of your sight.’
‘You stupid, stupid, selfish man,’ she yelled, her calm blown away.
‘I know. I know. Really there’s nothing you can say that I haven’t said of myself, but say it anyway if it makes you feel better. It’s your right.’
Kate stared at her husband. There was snow in his hair, he’d catch a chill if he didn’t towel-dry it. But what did she care? He’d told her they were ruined in a bar in Avoriaz, miles away from home. He told her they’d been broke for months, but he’d booked them into this plush suite in this luxury hotel anyway and, even though they’d walked out of the bar hand in hand, he was now telling her he was leaving her. What a stupid, idiotic, cruel gesture.
She stood up and got him a towel from the bathroom. She passed it to him, and he took it as though it were a live serpent. Ted struggled to interpret the gesture. Kate struggled to recognize her husband. The change was eerie. Ted was dressed in designer casual wear as usual. Ralph Lauren polo shirt and chinos, but the labels no longer shielded him. Her husband looked like a boy – the fat, bullied, unpopular boy that smelt stale and sat at the back of every classroom. How was it possible? Her cautious, steady Teddy, who always weighed up the pros and cons, why hadn’t he seen the consequences of his actions? Hadn’t he seen that giving Mrs H a tip would be considered to be insider dealing?
‘I don’t want you to leave, you idiot. Didn’t you just say you love me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, prove it. Stay and sort this mess out with me.’
Ted could not believe his luck. He had married the most fabulous woman in the entire world. And he hadn’t even known it. Yes, he’d always loved her. God, he loved her so much. He’d always been amazed that Kate had accepted his proposal in the first place, which had been nothing more that a rashly hopeful pitch. He’d always believed her to be kind and clever, and then she’d turned out to be such a fantastic mother and she was lovely to his friends and parents. He’s always been proud of her at his corporate events. She chatted easily to his boss and never got drunk, yet she had fun and didn’t ever come across as dull or snooty, as some corporate wives could.
He’d always been her biggest fan.
But now this. This was amazing. This took his breath away. Nothing could have prepared him for this level of fabulousness.
; Finally, it all came tumbling out. He told her everything. Stop-start, stop-start. It hadn’t been easy. Telling your wife you were a bankrupt failure was not easy. He’d cried, again. It was becoming an embarrassing habit. He’d hardly dared look at her. He didn’t want to see her disgust, or anger, or despair. But then she’d put her hands on his face and gently but firmly lifted his chin.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she asked.
‘I couldn’t. I didn’t know how. I didn’t want to disappoint you.’
Then Kate cried, too. She’d failed her husband because he hadn’t been able to talk to her. He didn’t trust her enough. He hadn’t been able to depend on her. Kate began to retrace their steps over the past five months. She imagined her husband pretending to go to work, preferring to sit on a park bench than talk to her, and she felt sick with self-loathing. What kind of woman did he take her for? He should have had more confidence in her and in himself. It was truly pitiful. She pieced together his lies and excuses. Temper tantrums and sulking that had seemed inexplicable were now too horribly understandable.
‘This is why we didn’t have a New Year’s Eve party. Obviously you weren’t working on a secret merger.’
‘It would have cost us thousands.’
‘So this is why you were angry about the cost of the doctor.’
‘Yes.’
‘And my ordering room service and à la carte.’
‘Yes.’
‘And, tonight, we can’t even afford a couple of bottles of champagne?’
‘Our card would have been rejected, probably cut up in front of everyone.’
‘My God. I’m sorry,’ said Kate, shocked.
‘No, no, God. No, I’m the sorry one, Kate. My angel, Kate.’
Kate blew her nose and said, ‘I thought you were sick. I thought there was someone else.’
‘Really? You thought that of me?’ Ted didn’t know whether to be amused, insulted or flattered that his wife assumed he could still attract someone else and that he would ever act upon it.
