by Shari Low
Her hackles began to rise. Could he not just order a bottle of bloody wine? Did he have to go through this whole godforsaken performance every time they went out? This was the guy who’d rebelled against his private-school background and drank cheap cider in dive bars with her during their first year at uni. Of course, his little mutiny didn’t last long. By year three, he was in the wine club and vice president of the Fine Dining Society, eating foie gras with his old chums in wood-panelled Edinburgh members’ clubs.
‘I’ll have a Bloody Mary,’ she interjected, gratified to see a flash of confusion cross his earnest brow. Christ, he was insufferable sometimes.
Or was he?
Had he changed, or had she?
Once upon a time, she’d adored him. He’d been such a catch, her wealthy, ambitious man. Of course, his mother had been outraged by Marina’s pregnancy and demanded that she terminate it. Instead, she’d terminated her plans for the future. She’d been six months pregnant when she’d graduated with a first in international business management – a degree that had been utterly worthless for the last twelve years as a stay-at-home mother and wife.
‘Yes, well, perhaps we’ll try the Cabernet,’ he declared, mighty chuffed with himself as he snapped the wine list shut and handed it back to the waitress.
When had his habits, his mannerisms, the way he cleared his fricking throat before he spoke – when had that all started to irritate the life out of her?
He rewarded himself for his brilliance by putting his hand on her knee. It was all Marina could do not to slap it away, only distracted at the last minute by the buzz of her phone in her handbag.
Fuck.
Everyone who would perhaps text her on a Sunday was right here around this table. Of course, it could be a harmless notification from the bank. Or a thank you from a charity for her monthly donation. Or maybe even a shopping service saying her delivery was on the way.
But it wasn’t. She knew it. She could feel it radiating from the depths of her vintage Gucci Positano tote, trying its damnedest to permeate the shell of her family, of her life. Worse, it was like a magnet, forcing her to acknowledge it. It was the car crash you didn’t want to look at but yet your eyes were transfixed. Or the scab that you absolutely did not want to pick.
Pulling her bag onto her knee, she delved inside, making sure the tote was angled away from Graham so that there was no chance of him spotting the message on the screen when she found it. She needn’t have worried. He was too busy discussing the merits of his new F-Pace Jag with Oscar on the other side of him, next to Annabelle, who was in rapt conversation with her Aunt Zoe and Aunt Yvie about something Jennifer Lopez said on some dance show. She really needed to monitor her viewing more closely.
The iPhone was in her hand now, screen tipped towards her as she strained to see the message without removing it completely from her bag. Sender? It said Edinburgh Hotel. That was all. It was the name she’d saved his number under after the first time he’d texted her, the day after their hook-up. She’d immediately replied, asking him not to contact her again. It didn’t take a genius to work out that he must have looked at her reservation record to get her mobile number. But what was she going to do? Report him? To Whom It May Concern, I had sex with one of your employees and now he’s texting me. Please give him refresher training on the extent of his customer service duties, then ask him to delete my number. Sincerely, Married Guest With Plenty To Lose.
Er, no.
It had been mortifying enough that she’d had to ask Yvie to get her the morning-after pill, but she just couldn’t risk getting it herself in case Graham ever found out. It had been hard enough to swallow it past the lump of fear in her throat. Her sister had obliged and swore not to mention it ever again. Unfortunately, the barman didn’t feel the same.
Since that first text, there had been another two or three, all casual, all firing right to the heart of the part of her that would kill to protect the family and the life that she had built.
That should be it. Full stop. End of story. Yet… there was a thrill that lived somewhere deep inside her, one that she’d suppressed for as long as she could remember, that was ignited and flamed like a Bunsen burner at the thought of that night. Right now, with Graham smacking his lips and making a complete fricking show of tasting the wine, the feeling was intoxicating, it was bliss, it was…
‘Marina, are you okay?’ Zoe asked.
Marina’s head whipped around like a whirligig in a high wind.
‘Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?’
Defensive. That wasn’t good. Calm down. Move along people. Nothing to see here.
‘You just look a bit flushed. Is it too warm in here?’ Zoe asked, genuinely concerned.
Thankfully, a new arrival to the table took the heat off her. Quite literally.
‘Did I hear someone uttering a complaint in my restaurant?’ Roger Kemp asked, his bombastic grin as endearing as ever. Marina had met him a few times when she’d been here with Zoe. It was impossible not to enjoy his energy. He was one of those guys that filled the room and made everyone in it feel completely at ease. Or at least, as much at ease as Marina ever felt. Especially when her family was around.
Text forgotten, phone dropped back into the depths of her bag, she slipped her tote back down on to the floor, while Zoe beamed at him.
‘Too hot?’ he asked Marina, a playfulness in his voice.
Shit, bugger. Was she really that flushed? And if so, was she too young to blame the menopause? Anything rather than admit that it was down to a reminder of a random hook-up that was utterly sublime but could quite easily ruin her life.
Practised smile on, her voice controlled and as close as she could muster to matching his playfulness.
‘Not at all. It’s perfect in here, as always,’ she fired back smoothly. Roger Kemp was one of those people she liked to keep on side as you just never knew when he’d come in handy for staging a private party or getting a dinner reservation at the last minute. It wouldn’t harm Graham’s profile to be seen as a friend of Roger’s. Unlike, say, news that his wife was out picking up random men in bars.
The thought made her shudder.
‘Marina, I definitely think you’re coming down with something. You’re shivering now,’ her mother exclaimed.
Jesus, could she not have a minute’s bloody peace to have a private emotional reaction to the memory of one of the best and worst things she’d ever done?
A once in a lifetime blip. Something that would never happen again. Absolutely not. No way.
‘Anyway, glad I caught you, ladies, because I have a proposition,’ Roger was saying now.
‘Oh dear. That sounds ominous,’ Zoe teased him. ‘Will it end with us in debt or jail?’
Roger’s laugh filled the room again, other diners turning to see what was going on. ‘God, I hope so. Think of the publicity.’
Zoe grinned at him, and for a second Marina had the thought that her sister was far more suited to this charismatic force of nature than she was to Ned. There was nothing wrong with Ned, and there was absolutely no getting away from the fact that he was undeniably handsome with a body that was toned, fit, and incredibly sexy…
She stopped herself. Jesus, her hormones were doing somersaults here. Maybe this was the start of the menopause after all. This had to end. No more obscene thoughts, no more letting her guard down, and definitely no more one night stands. She just had to keep herself busy and concentrate on her family – that way she would never have the opportunity or the time to get up to anything untoward.
‘Go on then, proposition us,’ Zoe joked.
‘Well, I’ve had an idea that I’d like to put to my marketing guru,’ he began, with a wink at Zoe, ‘and I thought you lot might be able to help. We’ve decided to do a push on spa weekends to the hotel in Ibiza. You know, capture groups of girlfriends celebrating special birthdays or having a last blast with a bride before the wedding. Or maybe just a well-deserved rest from work and responsibi
lities at home.’
Marina began to zone out. Obviously, he wanted them to tell all their friends about this. Fine. She could spread the word amongst the other dance mums, dropping in the fact that Roger Kemp was a personal friend.
‘But I want real people to be the face of it. I think it’s important to show chemistry in a campaign and tell the story behind the pictures.’
Marina noticed that Yvie and Verity were leaning forward to listen, as Zoe laughed.
‘Good strategy. You’ve clearly been learning from your marketing guru. I think she sounds fabulous,’ she said, returning a cheeky wink that made Roger Kemp’s grin even wider.
The whole table was captivated now. Even Graham had stopped sniffing his bloody wine.
‘Oh, she is,’ Roger agreed, making Zoe laugh and take a mock bow.
Was it Marina’s imagination or did an irritated frown just cross Ned’s face?
Back to Roger. ‘So, I realised that the perfect people to kick off the campaign would be four gorgeous sisters. How would you ladies fancy an all-expenses paid weekend at my hotel in Ibiza? All you would have to do is allow us to take a few photos, give us some quotes and blog about it on the hotel website. Did I mention it’s a five star resort and you’ll be pampered day and night?’
Suddenly, Marina was paying attention again. A free holiday in a five star paradise sounded great… but she had commitments here. Duties to fulfill. Even as she was thinking it, she knew that wasn’t the reason that she couldn’t go. She’d had one taste of freedom in the last decade and look what had happened. A twenty-something barman thought they were Romeo and fricking Juliet. It was such a bad idea. There was just no way she could do it. She no longer trusted herself not to act like a hormonal teenager on their first Club 18–30 holiday.
‘Oh, dear God, if I didn’t already love you because your restaurant serves this cake, I definitely love you now,’ Yvie said, with her fork standing straight up in a slice of red velvet sponge that was so large it could be used as a doorstop.
‘Obviously I couldn’t possibly refuse my favourite client,’ Zoe chuckled. ‘So I’m definitely a sure thing.’ That made Roger grin and Ned frown again. Oh, there was definitely some kind of weird tensions going on there.
But back to the current tension of her own.
Verity wouldn’t agree, Marina was sure of it. There was no way she’d want to spend a weekend with Zoe right now…
‘As long as it’s in the school holidays, I’m in,’ Verity said. Bloody Judas.
Roger Kemp was unperturbed. ‘We can make that work. How about the first weekend in July? Glasgow schools have broken for the summer by then, haven’t they?’
Verity’s face lit up – not a sight that any of them were accustomed to. ‘Yes, we break up at the end of June. Guess that means I’m going,’ she declared gleefully.
They now all turned to stare expectantly at Marina. Last woman standing. Last obstacle in the plan. Well, she’d never buckled to peer pressure and she wasn’t going to start now. She didn’t have time to go jetting off. She was a wife and a mother. She’d had her fun that one night, but it was in the past. It was time to make a mature decision and accept her life exactly as it was.
Wasn’t it?
Those were all the things she was thinking.
However, the part of her that didn’t listen to reason, the same one that got her into trouble just a few months before, had different ideas.
Graham almost choked on his Cabernet as she paused, contemplated, decided, then announced the verdict. ‘I think I can make it work too.’
16
The Girls – Feb 1999
Zoe tried to get in the bedroom door, but as usual Verity had locked it. Instead, she settled for banging it so loudly, half the street probably heard.
‘Verity! You are a flipping nightmare. Open the sodding door,’ she demanded, really, really wanting to use much stronger language but aware that her voice would travel downstairs and she’d be in trouble with Dad for swearing.
Eventually, Verity opened the door just a few inches and peered through. ‘I thought you were at work?’
Zoe’s Saturday job was the highlight of her week. She’d told a small fib and added a year and a half to her age to get it, but hopefully she wouldn’t get caught out. Serving meals and clearing tables at the café was hard work – and she REALLY hated cleaning the toilets – but when she got her five pounds at the end of the day, it was all worth it. ‘I was – I just got home. And stop locking the door, it’s my room too!’
Verity clearly couldn’t care less about her objection and they both knew that she’d still lock the door every day, because she said it was the only way she could get peace and quiet. That’s what happened when three sisters shared a room. Marina was the lucky one. Her room might be the size of a cupboard, but at least it was all hers.
Verity sighed impatiently. ‘Well? What is it? And why do you have to make so much noise?’ she sneered.
‘Why do you have to be such a secretive cow?’ Zoe shot back. It was a question that she’d asked many times, so she didn’t really expect an enlightening answer, which was just as well, because she didn’t get one.
‘Shut up and beat it,’ Verity spat back, as she attempted to close the door. Again, not a surprise. Even on her last birthday, Verity had celebrated turning thirteen by going on a shopping trip to Glasgow with Mum. She hadn’t wanted a party or a dinner, and she’d warned them not to do the whole cake thing because she claimed it was ‘pathetic’. Zoe didn’t get it. What was the point of having a birthday if you didn’t enjoy it and eat cake? When she’d turned eleven last year, she’d had thirty friends in the house and Dad had managed to borrow a karaoke machine and they’d had the best time ever singing Spice Girls and Take That and Backstreet Boys songs. Even Verity had joined in, and she might even have cracked a smile. Moody boot that she was.
Zoe knew how to handle her though. She shot her foot into the crack in the door, stopping Verity from closing it, even if it would leave a mark on her Reebok trainer.
‘Dad sent me up to get you. We’re having a family meeting downstairs.’
Verity rolled her eyes. ‘Urgh, what is it now?’
Zoe shrugged. ‘No idea, but he doesn’t look happy.’
‘Just for a change,’ Verity mumbled, sarcasm dripping.
Zoe opened her mouth to argue then closed it again. Verity had a point. Mum and Dad’s arguments had been terrible over the last year or so. The pattern was always the same. Dad would be in a brilliant mood for ages, playing games and dancing with them and full of ideas for all the things they could do. They’d plan holidays and day trips and they’d turn up Top Of The Pops and dance to Kula Shaker in the living room. And then it would all change and Mum and Dad would be arguing and Mum would storm out and Dad would be really quiet and pissed off. In fact, since Christmas they’d barely spoken at all and Dad had been… She struggled to find the best word to describe it. Sad. That was it. Even Yvie couldn’t cheer him up, no matter how much she tried.
Hopefully, whatever this family meeting was about would be something that would make things a bit better around here.
‘Come on, let’s get it over with. I think they’re going to tell us that we’re booking next year’s holiday. I want to go to Benidorm. Everyone is always saying how brilliant it is.’
With stroppy reluctance, Verity conceded defeat and followed Zoe downstairs. Mum and Dad were already sitting at the kitchen table next to Yvie, who was tucking into the carrot cake Zoe had brought her from the café. It was her little sister’s very favourite, so she brought her a slice home every week. Over at the kitchen side of the room, Marina was opening a can of peas, while keeping an eye on the potatoes that were simmering on the stove.
‘Marina, put those down for now, love, and come sit over here,’ their dad said.
‘But, Dad, I—’
‘For God’s sake, Marina, can you just do as we ask for once?’ Mum snapped.
Zoe waited
for Marina to lose it and fight back. And she’d be right to. Mum was always out and Dad had been acting really weird lately, so they were all pitching in to help with stuff. Marina was cooking and shopping for everything they needed. Zoe was cleaning and working and making sure Yvie was okay. Even Verity had agreed to do the ironing, and she’d stand in the kitchen for ages on a Sunday night, her Walkman headphones on, getting all their uniforms ready for school.
Zoe was kind of wishing she had headphones on now as she waited for Marina to argue, but, to her surprise, Marina just put the can down, came over to the table and sat in the last free chair.
‘Right then,’ Mum said, her eyes darting to Dad, as if she was waiting for him to say something.
Dad was staring at the table, and only when he lifted his eyes could they see that they were a bit watery.
Zoe felt her skin prickle as she realised this was nothing to do with Benidorm. Her gaze darted to her sisters’ faces. Yvie was happily tucking into her cake, completely unaware that anything was wrong, but Marina and Verity were having different reactions. Marina’s jaw was set and her frown was pulling her eyebrows down, while Verity had that glazed expression she adopted when she was switched off because she didn’t want to be somewhere.
Zoe wanted more than anything to go back to work and escape whatever it was that was causing such a tense, awful atmosphere.
She steadied herself. It couldn’t be that bad, could it? Dad’s sigh, and the way he took a deep breath before he spoke, told her otherwise. ‘Girls, there’s no easy way to say this and I’m so, so sorry. I’d give anything not to be doing this to you.’
Oh God. In that instant, Zoe knew, just absolutely knew, what was about to happen.
‘You know that Mum and I love you all so much and we are heartbroken to tell you this…’
It was bad. Really, really bad.
‘But we haven’t been getting on for a long time now…’
Don’t say it. Please don’t say it.
