***
At the check-in desk, Zoë checked her scruffy canvas bag. It may have been "inappropriate" but at least there was nothing illegal, immoral or indecent in it, nothing that could result in her being sent down for the rest of her natural life.
Zoë sighed. That she was upset did not, in itself, surprise her; who wouldn't be upset at such a turn of events. What was less easy to deal with was the nagging sense that in some way she had overreacted. Could that be right? A virtual stranger had compromised her safety by involving her in a drug-couriering operation; surely it was as straightforward as that. Black and white. But of course, as she had pondered on so many occasions, nothing was ever only black or white. After all, she couldn't pretend to be completely innocent. Even if she had never agreed to involve herself in illegal activities, if she was truthful with herself, she had known that Raoul's business deals were shady and that she was hiring out her services as much for the sake of camouflage as adornment. Purely decorative?
No, of course not. And she knew it.
Still, that was no excuse. He shouldn't have used her that way.
Zoë collected her boarding card, and as she turned, caught sight of him running towards her. For a brief moment her heart leapt in excitement at the prospect that Raoul had come to get her. But even before the adrenaline rush had stopped, she saw that the good-looking gentleman in the tan suit and Panama was not Raoul, but a Spanish businessman. Or an Italian photographer, perhaps. Or even a Greek shipping magnate...
But not a deceitful Venezuelan cocaine smuggler.
Not Raoul.
***
The journey back to London had none of the excitement of that first trip to Frankfurt. The first-class cabin was almost empty. And although she accepted the glass of champagne from the flight attendant shortly after take-off, she took only a couple of sips before placing it on the large armrest beside her, where it remained, untouched, for the duration of the flight.
Chapter 18
The mail had piled up on the doormat, and a few of the letters became caught up as she pushed the front door open. Without looking too closely, she could see that it was the usual collection of bills, circulars, junk mail... nothing important, nothing good.
Zoë dumped her bags in the hallway, picked up the mail and traipsed to the kitchen. She switched the kettle on, spooned some instant coffee into a cracked mug, and waited for the water to boil. The rain, falling from a miserable grey sky, splattered against the windowpane, and the chill wind managed to sneak in through the cracks and gaps. She opened the mail.
By the time the steam was erupting from the spout, she had discovered that she was three-hundred-and-forty-six pounds in debt, that her credit cards had been cancelled due to lack of payment, that her mother had to go into hospital to have kidney stones removed, and that, as of next month, her rent was going up by fifteen per cent.
Home Sweet Home, thought Zoë, and burst into tears.
***
The doorbell woke her. She had been napping; it was still only early evening. A little dazed, she stumbled down the stairs, peered in the mirror but, bleary-eyed, couldn't figure out whether she was presentable. Realising that, frankly, she couldn't give a damn, she opened the door to find Liz standing there, bottle of wine in hand, and grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
'So?' said Liz excitedly. 'How was it? I want to hear everything.'
Zoë took one look at her friend, and burst into tears once again.
'Oh God,' said Liz, throwing her arms around her sobbing companion. 'Was it something I said?'
***
They sat in the kitchen while Liz made the coffee and Zoë proceeded to pour her heart out. It must have taken her an hour and a half. She told Liz almost everything, but, although distraught, she had sufficient presence of mind to realise that it was one thing to tell her that she had fallen in love with Raoul, but quite another to detail the intimacies of their relationship. However, she was quite specific about the way in which she had discovered the cocaine in her suitcase.
When she had finished, she looked at Liz, hoping for some sort of enlightenment, or at least wisdom. When she saw that none was forthcoming, she would have settled for consolation, but there wasn't much of that coming her way either. Liz looked as depressed as she, Zoë, felt. This wasn't what she had intended.
'Well say something.'
Liz fished another cigarette out of the packet and lit up. 'What am I supposed to say? Raoul wouldn't do a thing like that. He's all sorts of things - and I know he can behave like a total prick sometimes - but he wouldn't plant four kilos of cocaine on you. He just wouldn't.'
'Just because he's never planted drugs on you...'
'Zoë! You'll just have to take my word on this one. As unlikely as his explanation was, I believe it.'
Zoë took a deep breath and looked away. 'Oh shit,' she mumbled.
'As for the rest of it,' continued Liz, 'I don't know what you want me to say. I'm jealous and I hate you.'
'But it's not as if you could have gone this time, or the next, or...'
'Okay, okay! You don't have to rub my nose in it. Jesus.'
Zoë reached out and took Liz's hand. She felt so confused, she didn't really know what she was saying.
'I'm sorry. I'm being insensitive. I just... I never intended to fall in love with him.'
Liz nodded slowly. 'If I'm honest, I must have known that something like this was going to happen. I mean, I know you, and I know Raoul. It was obvious really. I just hadn't thought through how I would react.'
'It doesn't matter anyway,' said Zoë, coming to terms with what she had done. 'After the things I said to him, there's no way... I mean, to hell with him. Even if he's innocent, he's still guilty as hell.'
Liz looked at her quizzically. 'You care to run that by me again?'
'Huh? Oh, it's just... well, if it's not one crime, it's another. He's still a lecherous macho pig who probably doesn't give a shit about me anyway.'
Liz shook her head. 'No Zoë, it doesn't work like that. Raoul is more than just fond of you... he must be. If what you tell me is true... well, he's never said any of those things to me. I think he's truly smitten.'
Zoë looked closely at her friend. Although she couldn't always tell when Liz was lying, this didn't seem to be one of those times. Besides, what did she have to gain by fooling her? 'Really?' she said meekly, hoping that Liz would not now retract her statement.
'Really. I suspect he'll wait for you to calm down a bit, and then get in touch.'
***
Zoë wasn't ready to go back to Sizzlers. She knew that she would have to answer all sorts of questions, that the boys would be out to make fun of her, and that under that sort of pressure she might well crack up completely.
However, she needed the money, more desperately than ever, so she had little choice. Consequently, the following evening, having slept the best part of a day, she togged herself up in her "work" clothes, and raced once more to catch the bus.
She wondered how she would broach the subject of her little jaunt with a cocaine smuggler, and more particularly how it had ended. She didn't want to tell them what had really happened, but at the same time knew she'd be unable to keep up a pretence for very long.
Within an hour of her return, the truth - or rather, a heavily censored and slightly twisted version of it - was out. Interestingly, she did not receive the sort of ribbing she expected, and if anything, everyone seemed rather considerate of her feelings. She couldn't figure it out at first, and it took Josh's "by God but we're pleased to have you back" to make her understand.
They had all missed her. They hadn't even contemplated the thought that she would really be whisked away forevermore; they hadn't dared. Zoë was quite touched by this, but it did little to console her deep down.
She fell into a listless routine for the following two weeks. Her financial situation was so severe that she didn't dare go out partying; she even offered to work overtime for Maurice, and do the lunchtim
e sessions at the weekend. Each day when she woke she would drag herself downstairs to check the mail, hoping to find something to lift her spirits. But there was nothing.
The days passed slowly. People began to wonder what was wrong with her; they all thought Zoë had lost her zest, her sparkle. Rather than being renewed from her trip, if anything she seemed drained, unresponsive.
Little by little Sean, Maurice, Clive and Josh all learned what had really happened in Barcelona. They resisted the opportunity to tell her "told you so", and if anything were even more sympathetic towards her, but eventually they began to get a little irritated by her attitude. She seemed not to care about anything any more, and it was impossible to get a laugh out of her.
By the end of the third week things had come to a head. That evening she walked into the bar with an especially long face, and didn't even bother saying hello to Sean who was behind the counter polishing a few glasses. Zoë brushed past him, opened a bottle of champagne and poured herself a glass.
'And what, precisely, would be troubling you this evening?' asked Sean.
'Nothing,' said Zoë, flatly.
'Oh yes, that'd be right. I had a dose of that the other day. You'll get over it.'
Zoë said, 'Fuck off Sean. You don't understand.'
Sean put down the glass that was in his hand and turned towards her, hands on hips. When he spoke, the words left his lips like machine gun fire.
'Yes, well, that's the problem with being a thick paddy... I don't recognise a good thing when I've got it. Unlike you, who merely pisses all over it.'
He didn't wait for an answer, but walked off abruptly to the far end of the counter to serve a customer who had just seated himself there. Zoë, realising how rude she had been called after him, but Sean ignored her. She pretended not to care, but deep inside, she was hurting.
Later that evening she was cornered by Clive who, having once again become unnecessarily garrulous through drink, began to pour out his problems to Zoë. But tonight Zoë wasn't in the mood for it, and when Clive started talking about needing some extramarital love and affection, Zoë snapped at him.
'Don't push your luck Clive. I'm not in the mood for jokes.'
Clive snorted noisily. 'So we've all noticed,' he said, his words slipping drunkenly into each other.
This didn't please her at all. 'What's that supposed to mean?'
Clive gazed at her, rather contemptuously. 'Oh come off it Zoë. Since you got back from El Viva Bloody Espanya you've been about as much fun as a dose of the clap...'
'Charming.'
'Yeah, well, you'd do well to snap out of it.'
It was the condescending tone that got to her. Suddenly, without warning, she flared up, the sarcasm in her voice spilling out of her like acid.
'What is this? Why is everyone around here suddenly so warm and compassionate? What did I do, I wonder, to deserve such understanding companions?' She looked over to where Sean was standing, about to pour from an open champagne bottle. 'I'm upset, okay?' she said, her voice tense, embittered, 'And all anyone can say around here is "snap out of it". Well I don't want to snap out of it. Jesus Christ, why am I the only person around here who's not allowed to get miserable?'
Everyone at the bar fell silent for a moment before Clive, believing the comments had been directed at him exclusively, replied:
'Because you're different.'
Zoë shook her head, the tears rolling down her cheeks. 'The fuck I am!' she yelled, then stormed out of the bar, leaving both staff and clientele totally bewildered.
She spent the rest of the evening lying on the floor at her flat, getting stoned and flicking through a lovely and inordinately expensive book that she had bought two days previously. The book was called "Barcelona: City of Gaudi", and was illustrated, she thought, with some spectacular photographs. Especially those of the Sagrada Familia.
***
The following evening was quiet. She spent the first ten minutes apologising to everyone, especially Sean and Maurice. She realised that she had been acting badly, and asked that they forgive her. Both Sean and Maurice were a little embarrassed by this, so much so that Maurice insisted they have a drink together to seal the peace.
After the first couple of glasses, Zoë was almost back to her old self, teasing Maurice and laughing at Sean's jokes.
It was while they were finishing off the bottle that the motorcycle courier appeared. He came over to the bar, carrying a large padded envelope.
'D'you know a Miss Burns? Zoë Burns?'
'That's me,' said Zoë, a little puzzled. The courier thrust his clipboard in front of her to sign, and then handed her the package.
'What is it?' asked Sean. 'Who's it from?'
'I don't know,' said Zoë, weighing the envelope in her hand. Then she tore it open and pulled out a small jeweller's box. She lifted the lid. Inside, sitting on a pad of red velvet, were a pair of gold earrings. The earrings that Raoul had bought for her to wear in Barcelona.
She looked up at Maurice and was just about to explain their significance, when Clive picked up the envelope and peered inside.
'Hang on Zoë, there's something else.' He shook the envelope over the bar and a plane ticket fell out.
She picked it up, but before she could look at it, Sean snatched it out of her hand.
'One-way ticket to Caracas! You've got to be bloody joking! He's got a nerve...' He was just about to rip it in two when Zoë reached over and stayed his hand.
Josh's face fell. 'You can't seriously be thinking of going...'
'No, of course not,' said Zoë, lifting the ticket out of Sean's hand, folding it in half and putting it in her back pocket.
***
Zoë was dreaming. She knew she was lost, somewhere in a lush, tropical rainforest. The dense foliage pressed in on her so that she could see neither the sky above her nor the way ahead. Sweat trickled down her forehead and into her eyes, making her blink incessantly. Trailing lianas hung down from overhead branches, brushing her face, catching in her hair. She was filled with dread; venomous snakes slithered through the thick undergrowth, poisonous frogs lurked in the trees. And she felt the presence of something else - hidden, but equally deadly - lying in wait for her. She moaned and tried to shake off the vines that clung to her...
'Zoë... Zoë, wake up...' Liz was calling her and shaking her gently. Zoë resisted; she didn't want to stay in the dream, but she didn't want to wake up either. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes... and found herself looking into the face of a stranger.
It took Zoë a moment to remember where she was. She pushed away the airline blanket and sat up, glancing round the first class cabin.
The pretty blonde flight attendant smiled at her. 'Sorry to wake you, but we'll be landing in thirty minutes and I thought you might like some coffee.'
Zoë smiled as the flight attendant placed a cup and a glass of what looked like freshly-squeezed orange juice beside her. She took a sip of the juice and grinned as she tasted the champagne: Bucks Fizz. Just how she liked it. 'Thank you,' she said, and took another, longer sip.
She glanced out of the window. 'Is that the jungle down there?'
'Yes it is,' said the flight attendant. 'We're just flying over the Amazon rainforest... is this your first visit to Venezuela?'
Zoë nodded. 'What's it like?'
The flight attendant smiled. 'It's another world,' she said, and moved on to attend to another passenger.
Zoë fingered one of the gold earrings she was wearing. Her hand shook slightly. She lit a cigarette and inhaled, counted to five as she waited for the nicotine to take effect.
As the drug kicked in, relaxing her, she idly read the disclaimer on the side of the cigarette packet: "Warning. Smoking can seriously damage your health". Zoë laughed out loud.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter
4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Purely Decorative Page 15
