by Carrie Stone
As luck would have it my extra large yellow suitcase appeared on the conveyor belt amongst the first few to be unloaded. I pushed to the front of the belt, aware that the good looking man on my flight who had been seated in row 17A, was now directly facing me on the other side, smiling across. His tanned skin and sun bleached hair even more prominent than it had been from his position near to me on the flight.
Aware that my case was approaching fast, I spotted an opening and moved into position. Flicking my hair to one side, I bent lower ready to reach out, noticing Mr 17A's vigilance of my every move. My cleavage looking optimum as I bent forward, I shyly looked up to smile at him as seductively as I could muster, hoping he appreciated the view.
Brushing up on my sensual flirting skills was compulsory if I was to stand a chance of keeping Edward. He had yet to see my sexual side. The practice would stand me in good stead.
The plastic handle of my case began to move past me and I reached out to grab it. Securing my grip, I was caught offgaurd. Not fully appreciating the heavy weight of the case, my grasp failed to have any effect. The case continued on past me, taking my limp hand with it.
The unexpected pull took me to the left as I felt my heels give way. As if in slow motion, I went from being partially upright to lying on the floor in a heap, my suitcase safely mounted on the conveyor belt and continuing its journey around again. I looked towards the feet of a well dressed Spanish gentleman under whom I was splayed. He stared down at me.
'Are you OK? Humiliation washed over me and my hands trembled.
'I'm fine thanks.' I jumped up quickly, looking downwards to my cream silk top, now smeared with a dirty brown stain. One of my newly French manicured nails had snapped cleanly at the tip.
I felt my cheeks flush with heat as I noticed the amount of curious glances in my direction. Some smiling, others concerned. A few of them probably thinking I deserved to trip, considering I had opted to wear four inch heels for the journey. I resisted the urge to lay the blame at my mother's incessant quest for perfection. I'd have happily been wearing flat pumps if it I wasn't so worried about her opinion of my appearance.
Trying my best to ignore the interested glances, I scoured the belt for my case. I sighed. Amongst a sea of dark cases there was no yellow beacon to be seen.
A gentle tap on my shoulder and a scent of spice surrounded me. I turned. There he was. Mr 17A. I inwardly cringed. He'd undoubtedly witnessed the entire scene.
'Hi' he smiled. 'Couldn’t help but notice your small mishap and I saw this coming my way' he pointed down to my case 'so I thought I’d grab it for you before you went for a second trip.'
Up close he was handsome in a surfer type, carefree way. His navy shirt and cream chino shorts sporting a discreet upmarket logo. I giggled at his wit, relieved to see my case.
'Thank you. I’m awfully embarrassed, tripping over whilst trying to lift it off. Typical woman – no strength!'
He was making me nervous. He wasn't my usual type but his confidence was alluring. His light hazel eyes were searching my face inquisitively.
'I wouldn’t have you down for a typical woman. Far from it in fact' he smiled.
My pulse quickened. He was flirting with me. He was interested. Although he wasn't Edward, he wasn't a bad runner up. It would be silly of me to dismiss him completely.
'I'm Lizzie' I said, holding up my hand in a mini wave.
For the second time in the space of five minutes, embarrassment washed over me. He wasn't standing five feet from me, he was standing directly in front of me and here I was waving at him, like a moron. He cut me off before I could redeem myself.
'Listen Lizzie, I'm staying at the PYT hotel, let me take you for dinner one night' he reached into his pocket, producing a business card and handed it to me. 'Give me a call anytime this week and we'll make plans.' He looked distractedly past me. 'Need to dash now, I can see my case coming around’ he said reaching out.
I automatically leaned in closer. His hand reached for my upper arm and squeezed it gently. I quickly moved my head away from him, hoping he didn’t catch my misinterpretation.
'Nice meeting you Lizzie, see you soon, I hope.' Another flash of those hazel eyes and he was gone, jogging to the other side of the belt to collect his case.
I closed my eyes for a moment, grateful for my back to the audience behind me. What on earth was wrong with me? A perfectly normal man chatting me up for two minutes and just because he moves closer, I assume he is leaning in for a kiss.
Edward had truly screwed with my man compass. I could no longer trust myself to behave like a rational adult. I tried to put Edward from my mind.
By the time I reached the automatic exit doors my mother was clearly visible at the front of the barrier. Her hair was different, it looked bouncier, thicker even. Her eyebrows were perfectly arched and her nose slightly thinner. As soon as she spotted me she dramatically held up her slender, tanned arms.
'Darliiing! It’s been far too long' and within moments she was squeezing me like she hadn't seen me in years.
'Let me look at you' she said stepping back from me and eyeing me up and down. I noticed she lingered a little too long on my new suede belt and I mentally reminded myself to keep it well hidden if I wanted to see it again.
'You look fabulous, a little heavy on the hips and fuller in the cheeks. But that’s nothing a few days of salad won’t sort' she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.
Ignoring her comment, I looked at her closely not quite believing the transformation. She was almost a walking Barbie doll. Albeit an old one. Her legs sinewy and toned, her face almost wrinkle free and her hair bouncing with every step. She'd changed dramatically in the four months since I’d last seen her.
'Have you been working out?' I asked, my voice heavy with astonishment.
'Working out' she laughed lightly 'I practically live at the gym these days darling. It doesn’t pay to sit on your bottom all day at my age, unless you want a fat, wobbly one' she smirked, not a line appearing around her mouth.
'Sampson prefers women that look after themselves. He also has a high sex drive and if I want to keep up with him there is no option but to get myself worked out.'
I frowned. If there was one subject I didn’t want to discuss, it was my mother's sex life. Especially after an early start to the day and a three hour flight. Oblivious to my irritated glance in her direction, she continued talking.
'He was only saying to me the other night how astonished he is at my flexibility since I started yoga. He was surprised I could lift my legs so far up over his shoulders.'
I groaned. Not five minutes in her company and already I was starting to regret the trip.
'Mum, please stop. I really don't need to hear this. I'm pleased you’re happy but spare me the details.' I shook my head in disbelief.
'Don't be such a prude, Lizzie' she tutted, picking up her pace and walking ahead of me.
She really knew no boundaries. But there was a part of me that was slightly jealous. Jealous of my own mother. The fifty year old that could swing her legs over her head and was having more sex than her twenty-something daughter. My new found confidence was already beginning to wilt.
We neared the car; a silver sports convertible that would struggle to accommodate my large suitcase into its boot. I would be forced to hold my smaller hand luggage on my lap.
A Spanish man rushed over to help as both my mother and I struggled to lift the large yellow case.
'Gracias' she purred in her over accented Spanish, as the case slotted into the small space available. She was never one to miss an opportunity to flirt.
That was when I heard the yelp. I noticed the partially opened passenger window, silently hoping my mother hadn't brought a third party with her. She had indeed.
Opening the door, there on the passenger seat was what appeared to be a white leather holdall. Yet I knew better.
'Coco. Enough!' my mother's voice drilled from the right of me. 'She has to learn to s
top yapping. It’s driving me up the wall. The other girls aren't like this’ she said exasperated.
I gingerly picked up the holdall and peeked into the side mesh panel. An adorable chocolate brown Chihuahua pup, no bigger than a bag of sugar, wagged its tail excitedly at me.
My nose began to twitch. Sadly, no matter how adorable I thought Coco was, she'd have to keep her distance. Edward still hadn't called but once he did, I’d have our date to look forward to. The last thing I needed on returning to the UK, was puffy eyes and a red nose. Placing the dog holdall in my foot well, Coco immediately stopped whining. Perhaps I had a way with dogs. It was a shame that didn’t apply to men.
I hoisted the wheelie case onto my lap and closed the door, trying to ignore the heat and my dirty cream top clinging to my sweaty body. My face felt greasy and I had a sneaking suspicion my eye make-up was more under my eyes than on them. A quick look in the flip down mirror confirmed my fears.
'I look a mess; once we're home, I’ll take a shower and freshen up. Then I can fill you in on everything' I said, flipping the mirror back up so I didn’t have to face my street urchin appearance. My mother turned to look at me.
'That reminds me, darling. Sampson and I are having a small gathering Wednesday evening and you need to be prepared. One of the men is unattached. We thought you might benefit from meeting him. He's rather dashing. And wealthy of course.'
I stared at her incredulous. Was there never a moment when she didn’t think of setting me up? She hadn't yet enquired of Edward, despite my conversations updating her. Clearly, she didn’t believe the relationship had a chance of longevity.
I sighed loudly; it wasn't worth arguing with her. To keep the peace I would have to attend her party and allow her play matchmaker. It was unlikely I would have anything in common with her chosen suitor. It wasn't the first time I’d had to endure the process, and I was certain it wouldn’t be the last.
'Fine' was all I had the energy to muster as she put her foot down and began to speed along the motorway like a formula one pro approaching the finish line.
By the time we arrived at the large white villa reminiscent of a mini American White House, I felt emotionally drained. Looking at the grandeur property still had the same breathtaking effect each time I visited. My mother had bought the villa years previously when the recession had hit. Yet now, as celebrity and fame graced the south of Spain, the value had increased dramatically. I tiredly followed my mother towards the heavy double entrance door, Coco's holdall held tentatively in one hand and my hand luggage in the other.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Stella hadn’t spoken to Lizzie properly in over a week. Since her revelation, she had felt distanced from her sister. The guilt at Lizzie's reaction towards her relationship with Chris had been too much to deal with. Except now that Lizzie was in Spain with their mother, Stella had began to panic. What if Lizzie said something? Of course she would never do such a thing intentionally; but it was easy to experience a slip of the tongue without realising.
The twins had been playing up all week. Only yesterday she'd been summoned by the school deputy; she'd learned the boys had dismantled the school's four foot high Lego display for an upcoming competition. Embarrassed for her children’s reckless behaviour, Stella had readily agreed to reconstruct the display alongside her children in after school hours.
She sat with her head in her hands. Her life was in pieces. Two unruly children, an unhappy marriage, a whimsical affair and to top that, she had no idea where she'd find time, let alone instructions, on how to build a multi-storey Lego fire station, complete with trucks.
She had thought about leaving her job. It would be one way to distance herself from Chris and avoid any further damage to her marriage. She certainly didn’t need the money. The part time hours she worked barely paid for anything and Miles earned more than enough. But her job was her lifeline. She couldn’t imagine having to spend each day doing the domestic chores and fussing after the twins.
She laughed to herself at the irony. All of those years seeking the pampered wife lifestyle and she'd found it with Miles, only to realise it didn’t satisfy her. Shopping and lunching in fine venues had been fun at the start, but she'd soon bored of it. The other wives were only concerned about status. Conversations revolved around new cars, houses or their husband's promotions.
Stella had longed for real conversation and friendship. Lizzie had been a saviour at that time. Stella knew her younger sister envied her lifestyle and it made her sad to think of her beautiful Lizzie, envying a life so materialistic and hollow. Aside from Miles, Stella didn’t really have anything. The money and status had no longer mattered to her.
Once the twins had come along, life had taken on new meaning and for a couple of years things had been bliss. They had been wonderful babies and many a day had been spent by Stella feeding, dressing and playing with them. That was until they had started school and Emily was brought in as backup. Slowly the boys had developed more into their own personalities and Stella was once again at a loss with her place in life.
The job had been offered by an old friend she'd bumped into, at the boys’ playgroup. Cindy was a single mother who had successfully started to build a reputable catering company from the confines of her own kitchen. Less than a year later she'd established herself a head office and large kitchen in the centre of the city. Stella had been with her from the beginning, working as her right hand assistant. She had enjoyed growing the business alongside Cindy. Cee Cee's was now sought after for private functions and events, catering the needs of many celebrities and affluent businessmen alike. She couldn’t imagine it not being a part of her life.
Stella walked over to the large limestone fireplace and picked up an old photograph of herself and Miles. Two happy, younger faces smiled back at her.
She sighed, reminded of the times when life had been happy and the word 'problematic' had no place in her world.
The boys would be home from school soon, and she didn’t want them seeing her once again tear stained face. She replaced the photograph and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.
Could it be that the children picked up on the disharmony in the household? Was her sordid affair with Chris, the root of their naughty behaviour? It was said that Karma worked in mysterious ways.
Miles had suggested going for dinner that evening but Stella had declined. She couldn’t bear any longer than necessary in her husband's company, certain that he'd notice her change in behaviour. She lied, telling him that she was too busy; the boys needed help with a school project and Emily wasn't available.
She loved Miles and hated lying to him. She'd never want to intentionally hurt him. It made her once again question herself. Why was she continuing her relationship with Chris?
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
The heat was intense, far more so than I’d remembered it to be in late spring. I still hadn't heard from Edward. Three days of anxiously waiting for his call, whilst having to endure my mother's remarks. It had been a mistake telling her that I was waiting for him to get in contact. Even Sampson had begun to shoot my mother warning looks when she continually raised the question of Edward's whereabouts. It wasn't an easy task to flippantly respond, whilst trying to conceal my bitter disappointment.
Once again, he had left me hanging. The niggling doubt of whether he was already involved with someone was beginning to surface, despite my best efforts to squash it.
My meeting with a member of Sasha's project team on the day after my arrival in Spain had gone particularly well. Ronnie was pleased with my report on the status of the project. It was a relief to hear that the hotel was on schedule for its launch, especially as Time & Travel magazine had allowed us space to run the article in the June edition. We couldn’t afford to mess things up; I'd had to pull enough strings already.
There was also the launch prize giveaway to arrange. A trip for two, complete with accommodation in the newly refurbished hotel. I'd put it to one side, conscious that there were st
ill nine remaining days of my trip to get things underway. More than enough time.
The biggest shock had been meeting Sampson whom I had naïvely assumed from my mother's description, would be of her usual taste and status.
I couldn’t have been further from accurate. Sampson was a tall, athletic, mixed race man who appeared to be at least five years younger than my mother. From the distinction of his large biceps and broad chest, which he preferred to be on show at all times, he spent many an hour lifting weights and working out.
Since arriving, I had been treated countless times to his warm smile and jovial personality. For the first time in years, I was pleased my mother had found somebody likeable and grounded. She may not have been the best mother at times, but she deserved some happiness.
Mitsy, Treacle and Lavender, joined by a tiny Coco charged out from the side path and bounded towards me, their excited Chihuahua tails wagging back and forth. Four small pairs of legs jumped up at my clothes leaving tiny, dusty foot prints as I bent down to pet them. Even though I had asked my mother to enforce restriction and not allow them near me, she'd taken no notice. Surprisingly though, I hadn’t started to show any familiar signs of my allergy.
The current self help book I was reading focused on mental intentions. Curious as to its authenticity, I had followed the instructions to affirm and visualise that my physical ailments were no longer present. Oddly, it appeared to be working. I picked up Coco and cradled her in my arms. It wasn't often I got the chance to indulge my inner child with fluffy pet cuddles.
'Lizzie, darling' my mother's voice sounded from behind me on the terrace.
I spun around to face her and noticed she had changed from her casual linen trousers into a white chiffon kaftan dress. She looked as glamorous as a model stepping off a catwalk.
