by Jules Wake
‘All of these places are packed,’ said Angela, surveying the busy bars. ‘We’ll never get a table.’
‘Mum, don’t be boring.’
‘We’ll be better off on one of the side streets. Those places won’t be as busy.’
‘Yeah, because they’re not exactly banging.’ Jade marched over to the nearest bar to read the menu at the front entrance. A barrier of thyme-filled troughs separated the rows of low- slung chairs facing the water from the road, all occupied, mainly by young twenty-somethings, the girls wearing the skimpiest tops and tiniest shorts Carrie had ever seen, and the men rocking the camp, all-white linen look. In some cases, all they needed was a captain’s hat and gold-fringed epaulettes to complete the look.
Angela hung back. Carrie read the prices over Jade’s shoulder and winced. You could buy a crate of wine elsewhere for the price they were charging for a bottle.
‘Look, they’re leaving.’ Like a Lab scenting food, Jade shot off, wriggling through the tables and staking her claim on one of them before the last occupant had even risen to his feet. He gave Jade a lazy smile. ‘Hey, babe. Take my seat.’ He leaned over and whispered something in her ear. She turned bright scarlet as he sauntered off, tossing a jacket over his shoulder before blowing her a kiss.
‘What did he say?’ asked Angela, rushing over, shooting suspicious looks at him. Carrie didn’t think he even noticed, he was too busy admiring himself in the wing mirror of a dark-blue Maserati parked outside.
Jade’s blush fired up more heavily. ‘Just that the seat was warm already.’
Carrie had a strong suspicion it was a lot lewder than that.
Angela picked up the menu and gasped. ‘That’s outrageous. Have you seen the price of these drinks?’ she squeaked. ‘We can’t stay here.’
Jade’s mouth turned down at each corner and her knee jumped up and down.
‘Don’t worry.’ Carrie laid a hand on her sister’s forearm as Angela struggled to get out of the seat, which was a bare inches from the floor. ‘These drinks are on me.’
‘But …’
‘Chill, Mum. We’re here now and like you said before we’ll never get a seat anywhere else.’ Jade nestled into the seat, like a cuckoo staking its claim. There was no way she was going anywhere.
‘Ang, don’t worry. We haven’t had to spend any money on the accommodation or the food. Come on, kick back and enjoy. It’s a great spot for people-watching.’
‘But you paid for the car hire,’ Angela muttered.
‘OMG look at that.’ Jade pointed to a bright-yellow Lamborghini that even, while crawling along the street, still emitted a throaty roar. ‘If I had a car that expensive, I’d at least get it in a decent colour.’
‘If I had a car like that, I’d get the exhaust fixed,’ said Angela flatly.
‘If I had a car like that, I’d get the hell out of St Tropez,’ said Carrie.
They all burst out laughing.
‘That’s so lame,’ said Jade. ‘This place is ace. I love it.’
‘After I’d driven a hundred miles an hour along the highway first.’ Carrie added with a huge smile. ‘If you’re going to drive something like that, you ought to go fast. You can afford the speeding tickets.’
Jade gave her a considering look. ‘Liking your style, Auntie C.’
‘I’d be terrified of scraping the paintwork or crashing it. Can you imagine the repair bill or the insurance premiums?’
‘I don’t think people who own cars like that are particularly worried about their no-claims bonus.’
‘Drinks, ladies?’
‘I’ll have a sparkling water,’ said Angela, closing her menu with a firm snap, a prissy punctuation to her safe choice.
‘Jade?’ Carrie prompted her niece, who suddenly shut the menu and put it on the table as if to shun temptation. ‘I’ll have the same.’
‘Oh for God’s sake, you two. Order something worthwhile. It’s not like we do this on a regular basis. Push the boat out. I’ll have a Kir Royale.’ Carrie handed her menu back to the waiter. ‘She,’ she pointed to Angela, ‘will have a gin and tonic, lots of ice, no slice and the young lady will have a …’
Jade’s face lit up with an excited beam. ‘Vodka and lime with soda.’
The waiter didn’t even blink at this unorthodox choice.
‘Merci mademoiselles.’
‘Thanks Caz. This is so cool.’ She took her phone out and took a few more pictures, before despatching them via WhatsApp to her friends.
As she took a sip of the Kir Royale, the fizz reminding her of lunchtime, she felt a sudden buzz. They were in one of the most glamorous, chic locations in the world. She was going to enjoy it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
‘Where are you going today?’ asked Jade with the mournful look of a spaniel who knows it’s about to be excluded from an outing. She reached across the table to snag a second chocolate croissant. ‘Mm, these are yum. I love it when the chocolate is all soft in the middle.’
‘From the sounds of Richard’s text, I think it’s a trip to the beach. He told me to bring swimwear,’ as well as the added instruction, Wear trousers and flat shoes.
Bloody man. How the hell was that supposed to help her decided what to wear? Trousers encompassed a whole new dilemma. Jeans, Capri pants or white linen?
Dithering in front of the wardrobe, which was not like her, she’d pulled out a pair of pale-grey Capri pants, wondering what Richard would turn up in. Then she put them back and hauled out a pair of crisp white-linen trousers. What part was he going to play today? Movie star or itinerant gardener? With an annoyed tsk, she pulled out a red T-shirt and a patterned scarf. She’d look chic even if he didn’t. And why did she even care?
‘The beach.’ Jade sighed and Carrie stopped worrying about her clothes. ‘I’d love to go to the beach. I bet it’s one of those private posh beach places.’
‘Posh? What? There are different grades of sand quality. Sea purity?’
‘Nooo.’ Jade stabbed at a loose croissant crumb, obviously exasperated beyond belief by her numpty of an aunt, before picking it up with her finger and waving the finger at Carrie. ‘There are these super-exclusive beach places, where it’s private and there’s a pool and chairs and a DJ, proper music and a bar. They’re so cool. You have to pay to get in. Nikki Beach is amaaaazing. I saw it on YouTube. Like one massive party. Maybe he’s taking you there. You should see the cars in the carpark.’
‘They showed that on YouTube?’ Angela shook her head across the breakfast table, as beautifully laid as if they were in a hotel. It had become her habit to lay out the breakfast table with a pretty tablecloth and matching tableware and serve warmed croissants with a large fresh pot of coffee, despite the swanky machine in the kitchen. It was rather nice having this leisurely breakfast together, instead of the usual chaotic dodgem-car approach at home.
‘Yes. It’s wall-to-wall Mercedes, Ferraris. All convertibles. Unbelievable.’
Carrie’s idea of beach heaven did not include a bar, music or a pool. She wanted to feel hot sand under her feet, lie on a towel and wriggle until her bottom hollowed out a dip to lie comfortably and inch into the cold sea wave by wave. However, the idea of the wind tugging and whipping at her hair in an open-topped sports car, like you saw in the films, had definite appeal. If she pinched Jade’s larger than large sunglasses, she’d really look the part.
Should she pack a book for the beach? Weighing a paperback in her hand, deciding she’d regret it if she didn’t, it was tossed into the straw bag along with her towel, sun cream, hairbrush, sarong, flip-flops (she’d opted to wear her Converse, in case they had to walk anywhere) and a bottle of water. Oh, and phone in a little zip-lock bag to stop the sand and any water getting on it. Plastic bag. That would be good for her wet costume later. Maybe a dry T-shirt? Was that everything? Not knowing what Richard planned made it difficult to know what to pack for the day. Should she take shampoo and conditioner? On the Continent most places had shower facilities a
nd her hair was a bugger to detangle. She studied the curls in the mirror. If Richard did his usual trick and pulled it out of her up-do, she’d be stuffed on the beach.
After a few days in the sun her face had a golden glow that had banished her British sallow tinge. Giving in to a sudden whim, she added a quick slick of mascara, waterproof of course, and a touch of lipstick, in case they did end up at one of those beach-resort places, where no doubt all the girls would be utterly stunning and in bikinis a fraction the size of her good old Marks and Spencer one.
She heard the buzzer announcing his arrival at the gates at the top of the hill and gathered up her bulging bag, hoping they wouldn’t have to walk too far.
Jade loitered in the hall with a nonchalant, who-me air about her. Angela was no better, making a vague attempt at tidying up the flowers on the console table. A welcoming party for a diplomatic mission would have been outnumbered.
‘You’re ready.’ Jade was clearly disappointed by that. ‘Are you sure you’ve got everything?’
Angela chuckled. ‘By the size of that bag, I’d say she’s got an entire set of cutlery, a full dinner service and the washing-up liquid, as well as the sink.’
Carrie ignored them both and rifled through the top of the bag, checking her sunglasses had been included.
‘I’ve never seen you do your hair like that before,’ said Jade, studying Carrie’s long plait with the intensity of Richard Attenborough discovering a new species. ‘It looks nice but too Sound of Music. You ought to try one of those fishtail ones,’ she grabbed the plait. ‘I could do it for you. They show you on YouTube.’
Carrie removed it gently from her niece’s hand. ‘Not today. It’s purely practical. For the beach.’
And hopefully, Richard-proof.
With a move devoid of any subtlety Jade opened the door, not wanting to put Richard to the trouble of having to press the doorbell himself and Carrie heard a buzzing whine like a lawnmower or was it a chainsaw? She knew that sound, what was it?’
Richard pulled up into view.
‘You have to be kidding,’ she muttered, as he pulled off a royal-blue helmet, proudly clutching it to his stomach with both hands, like a knight’s helmet. He beamed up at them, as if he were astride some majestic stallion instead of a small white scooter.
‘Morning ladies.’ He swung his leg over, looped the helmet over the handlebars and loped towards where they’d gathered on the top step.
‘Wow, that’s so cool,’ said Jade, before adding, ‘How old do you have to be to hire a scooter, do you think?’
‘Ninety-five and half,’ said Angela, without missing a beat, before turning to Carrie and muttering, ‘Rather you than me.’
‘Seriously.’ Carrie stared at the scooter. ‘Oh shit.’ Then she took a peek at him. Oh shit, indeed.
Memories collided, taking her back ten years.
Today he looked like the old Richard. Hair dishevelled, pointing in all directions, a thin cotton navy T-shirt, well-worn jeans, open at one knee from wear and tear rather than by design, and an ancient pair of black Converse, with the beginnings of hole in one toe. Old Richard had the same endearing grin but not the breadth of shoulders or toned physique under his T-shirt.
Carrie sucked in a breath. Please let the journey to the beach be very, very short. Her system was already querying how it was going to cope, for an extended period, sitting thigh to thigh and hanging on to that torso. Extended period? Who was she kidding? Just the thought of getting onto the scooter behind him had sent her pulse soaring into call-a-doctor beats per minute.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. Her body, the big fat traitor, was letting her down big time. She did not fancy Richard. Absolutely, utterly did not. That boat had sailed. She was getting married, for God’s sake, to another man. She loved Alan. Her libido was being led astray, or maybe it was the victim of a form of muscle memory. That was it. An old habit. And habits could be broken. Strains of a Rolling Stones song drifted into her head. Old habits die hard.
She pushed her shoulders back with renewed decision. Today was about proving to him that his two-week idea was very stupid, they were worlds apart, they had nothing in common any more and she didn’t have any feelings for him whatsoever.
‘Ready for a day at the beach?’ asked Richard casually. He grimaced at her oversize bag but to his credit didn’t say a word. With relief, she realised she could put it between the two of them and at least create some kind of barrier.
‘Did you want a coffee or anything before you head off?’
Carrie narrowed a glare at her sister’s back, even though she knew that Angela couldn’t help herself. Not offering food or drink to a guest might just have killed her or ruined her day.
‘Do you know what? That would be great. I’d forgotten what thirsty work it is on a scooter.’
Really? Folding her arms and tapping her foot would have been childish so she refrained, but it took some doing.
‘I might have swallowed a couple of flies on the way here.’
‘Yeuch,’ said Jade, eyeing the scooter with less enthusiasm.
Of course, coffee turned into home-made lemonade and croissants, which had to be heated, but Richard, in no hurry, happily chatted to Jade and Angela as he lounged in the shade under the veranda.
Watching Angela blossom in response to his compliments about her cooking and talking with great animation as she described making some pastry, waving her hands without any sign of self-consciousness, Carrie made herself relax into her chair. There was no hurry.
‘Where are you going today?’ asked Jade.
‘A beach not too far from here,’ answered Richard, stretching lazily, his T-shirt riding up. Carrie’s eyes slid away. He’d made himself far too comfortable.
‘Good, because I haven’t been on a scooter in …’ Her voice trailed off, she knew exactly how long it had been.
‘Since that time we went to Brighton.’ Richard’s face lit up.
‘Brighton, I used to love going to Brighton,’ said Angela, a dreamy smile on her face. ‘Shopping in the Lanes.’
‘Carrie had a bee in her bonnet about visiting the Royal Pavilion.’
‘No I did not. We were doing the Madness of King George at college, it was research. I wanted to get a feel for the Prince Regent. It was important.’
‘Not at seven o’clock in the morning.’ He turned to Jade, adopting a put-upon air. ‘She bounded out of bed and announced we had to go to Brighton.’
‘It wasn’t quite like that.’ Richard exaggerated.
‘No, true.’ He waited a beat. ‘More like eight o’clock. We were on the road by nine. On a scooter to Brighton.’
Jade sat up. ‘How old were you when you got the scooter?’
‘It wasn’t mine.’ Richard gave a pointed look at Carrie.
Jade turned to her aunt, her eyebrows like twin caterpillars, rearing up in sceptical disbelief.
‘We’d borrowed it … for the weekend.
Her repressive tone made Richard snort but to be fair he didn’t elaborate.
‘My friend Ralph was selling the scooter and said I could test-drive it for the weekend.’
‘He’d have let you test-drive it for a year.’
‘Are you trying to say I led him on?’ She turned, narrowing her eyes at Richard, seizing on it as a reason to be cross with him, even if it was spurious.
‘He did have quite a crush on you, although to be fair, you were very good,’ agreed Richard a little too easily, before adding. ‘You only had eyes for me, everyone knew that.’
‘Ever heard of modesty?’ asked Carrie.
‘God, do you remember that trip? What a laugh.’ His shoulders shook with gentle mirth.
‘A laugh?’ Carrie widened her eyes. ‘You’ve got to be joking. We got absolutely drenched.’ With a shudder, she remembered the soaked-through misery of wet underwear clinging to her skin. ‘And my hair. Oh God, we thought we were going to have to cut the knots out, it was in such a state afterwards.’
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Richard raised one eyebrow, his eyes dancing with secrets and amusement.
‘So we stayed overnight. In a B and B. Do you remember the woman that ran it?’
It was no good, Carrie couldn’t keep up being cross with him. ‘Mrs Barclay.’
‘You remember her name?’
‘Because of the bank, I guess, but she was very kind.’
‘She ran that hot bath and gave you a bottle of conditioner.’ His eyes met hers and a flash raced through her. Richard’s hands gentle on her scalp, massaging the conditioner with thorough attention as he sat behind her, she sitting between his legs, her bottom nestling up against him. Her nipples suddenly tingled and she made the mistake of looking at his hands, tanned with long, neat fingers, laying on the white-sprigged tablecloth. An image of his hands, slick with conditioner, moving down from the ends of her hair, sliding their way inch by inch down her front. Abruptly she closed her legs tight, as if it might quash the sudden sensation flowering there.
‘Shall we go?’
He took the outsize beach bag from her, for which she was grateful, giving the contents a cursory glance. Alan might have, no he would have, questioned whether she needed each and every item. Richard tucked it behind his legs at the front of the scooter. Only as she threw her leg over the scooter to sit behind, his bottom nestling up against her crotch, did she regret her haste, the memories still too fresh in her head.
As they zipped up the drive, the air buffeting her face, making her duck behind Richard’s back, other recollections trickled back. It was her who had insisted they make the spur-of-the-moment trip to Brighton, despite the weather forecast. She’d underestimated the penetrating power of driving rain. They’d arrived so wet and cold that the thought of driving back was too horrible to contemplate, instead making the impromptu decision to stay overnight. Doubtless one of her brainwaves too. It had definitely been her idea to go and buy a complete set of new clothes from the charity shop for the evening while theirs dried over Mrs Barclay’s radiators, although she’d drawn the line at charity-shop knickers and bought new.
