by Jenny Oliver
Billy hung up.
Chapter Eight
‘Are you OK?’ Julia asked hesitantly as the phone call ended.
‘Yes,’ Amber replied, curtly concentrating on the network of Channel Tunnel roads.
Julia nodded, then twisted in her seat to have a look at the signs they were passing. ‘Hang on, isn’t this the lorry lane? Amber, you’re in the lorry lane.’
‘I know,’ said Amber, zooming along the empty freight lane, bypassing the stream of holidaymakers.
‘But they won’t let you check-in, you’re not a lorry.’
‘Yes they will.’
‘They won’t! They’ll send you back.’
‘Christ, you’re as bad as Billy,’ Amber snapped and right at the last moment, with less than a minute left on the clock, she swerved right and cut back across the dividing bollards into the car traffic.
‘Oh my God!’ Julia gripped the seat as the van made a crunching noise like the bottom was being ripped off. ‘Amber, what are you doing? You can’t drive over them. You’ll be arrested.’
‘I’m not going to be arrested,’ she scoffed, nipping in front of a hot, idling people-carrier to push to the front of the automatic check-in.
Julia slithered down in her seat so no one would see her as all the cars around them honked their horns in disapproval and there was at least one annoyed wave of a hand out a window. ‘What do you think they’re going to do?’ Amber asked, her attention honed on the Eurotunnel screen as she keyed in her booking details, waiting to learn their fate.
PLEASE HEAD STRAIGHT TO BOARDING AT GATE E.
‘Yes!’ Amber thumped the steering wheel.
She cruised through the barrier, head tipped back in relief.
They wove their way through the terminal, a snaking line of cars following the signs to France, and joined one of the waiting-area queues where a man in a fluorescent flak jacket ushered them onto a loaded train. Once inside, a woman with a clipboard beckoned the van forward to within touching distance of the bumper in front. ‘Windows open, handbrake on, leave the vehicle in first gear,’ she said, moving on to issue the same instructions to the car behind.
Amber unclicked her seat belt. ‘I have to call Ned,’ she said to Julia, who nodded.
The tannoy gave safety instructions in English and French, and then the train pulled out of the station.
Julia sat back with her head against the headrest.
Suddenly Amber’s face appeared at the van window. ‘I completely forgot, you were meant to get out at a Travelodge!’
Julia shrugged like she’d forgotten too. But she hadn’t forgotten. She’d kept her head down and allowed the situation to run away with itself, hoping she wouldn’t have to make a decision. Wanting, but not allowing herself to admit to wanting, to run away from her life for the weekend.
‘Well, you’re here now,’ Amber said, vaguely amused by the fact anyone could forget to get out of the van, and went back to call her ex, Ned.
The train chugged on. Slowly the wires and telegraph poles out the window retreated, then faster and faster became a blur behind them.
Julia thought about Charlie, what he would be doing without her.
In the corridor, leaning against the yellow handrail between a window and a what-to-do-in-an-emergency poster, she could see Amber on the phone, hear the tirade she was giving Ned.
‘I can’t believe you told Billy??… Oh who cares if Marcia wants to start your life with total honesty. Do you know how pathetic that sounds?… You may have looked after him for eighteen years, but you’re still a spineless insensitive jerk.’
Julia looked away, out the window at the blurry countryside, the lines of colour, the fields and trees zooming past.
She felt bad for Billy.
Amber shouted, ‘You promised, Ned. You were in this for life!!!’
Julia glanced back at the sound of Amber’s raised voice. She looked stressed and tired. She felt sorry for her, too.
‘Yeah, well, sorry’s not good enough,’ Amber snapped and hung up. She smacked the handrail in frustration, then turned so she was leaning against the wall, head tipped back, staring up at the fluorescent light.
Julia wondered what was happening back at home. She wondered if the party was still going on. Of course it would be. She clicked on her phone and saw a snap of Lexi, Alicia and Nicky, on Instagram, all in the hot tub, holding up glasses of champagne #bffgoals #blondesjustwannahavefun. A rising sickness rose up in her throat as she thought about what they’d said about her. She imagined Charlie at home alone. She wondered how he was feeling. If he was worried about her.
She sent him a message: I know it’s a bit weird, Charlie, but I’ve gone to France for the weekend with Amber from next door. x
Immediately her phone rang.
‘What are you talking about?’ It was Charlie. ‘What do you mean you’re in France?’ There was a pause. ‘Julia, are you having a breakdown? Should I be calling an ambulance or something? Or the – what are the police called in France?’
‘No, I’m not having a breakdown. I just…’ she paused. ‘I just thought we could do with some space.’
Charlie huffed a laugh. ‘No kidding.’
Julia sunk a little lower in the faux-leather seat. Neither of them said anything for a while.
Then Charlie asked, ‘So where are you?’
‘In the Channel Tunnel. I don’t think I’ll have reception for much longer.’
‘Right. That’s lucky,’ he said, as if she’d planned it that way.
‘Don’t be like that.’
‘Like what?’
‘It was just stupid dreams,’ she said.
‘Yeah right, so you said,’ Charlie replied. ‘And all that at the hot tub? You’ve made me feel like a fool, Julia. Like I’m not good enough. I can see Hamish bloody Warrington through the window right now so pissed he’s trying to climb his bloody olive tree, and I think, Christ, if that’s who Julia wants, how can she possibly love me?’
Julia swallowed, she looked down at her feet, tried to picture Charlie’s face and home but it was all a bit blurry. ‘I do love you.’
Charlie scoffed. ‘Sounds like it.’
Neither of them said anything again. The silence stretched like chewing gum till finally it snapped and Charlie said, ‘Look you’re going to run out of reception soon, I’d better go.’
‘OK,’ Julia replied.
‘And you’re sure I don’t need to call whatever the French police are called?’
Amber’s voice cut in at that point, saying, ‘The gendarmerie.’
Julia glanced over to where Amber was leaning against the railing. She cringed that she’d clearly heard the whole thing, as she had heard Amber’s argument with Ned. ‘The gendarmerie,’ Julia repeated to Charlie.
‘Yeah that’s it,’ he said, momentarily off-brand with pleasure that they had stumbled upon the answer. ‘So I don’t need to call them?’
‘No.’ Julia shook her head.
Then the train went through the tunnel and she lost all reception cutting Charlie off. She put her phone away and sat for a moment, feeling unexpectedly empty. Then she got out of the van. Walking tentatively towards Amber. Leaning against the yellow railing next to her.
‘Are you OK?’ Amber asked.
Julia nodded. ‘You?’
Amber pulled her hair back off her face. ‘No.’
Julia smiled. ‘Me neither.’
Amber laughed.
Julia laughed.
‘Why is this funny?’ Julia asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Amber replied. Then she closed her eyes. ‘Shit.’
Julia ran her hand back and forth over the yellow railing, not sure what to say.
They both stood for a bit. In the car in front of their van, an old couple were having a little picnic. They watched the old man reach over to get a thermos from the back seat.
Amber went to the van and got a Nicorette patch.
Julia replayed the conversation with
Charlie in her head.
Then suddenly Amber shot back, flattening herself against the wall, eyes a bit wild.
‘What?’ Julia asked, looking around for a problem. ‘What’s happened?’
But Amber just pinned her back too with her outstretched arm. ‘Just stay here.’
‘Why?’
‘Because,’ said Amber, ripping the back off the Nicorette like her life depended on it, ‘there are two possible candidates for who is Billy’s real dad, and one of them is in the white van in the compartment in front of us. Damn,’ she huffed, slapping the patch on her arm underneath the one that was already there. ‘I didn’t think he was coming to this fair. Damn, damn, damn.’
Julia tried to lean forward again to have a look. ‘That’s really bad luck,’ she said.
‘Don’t look!’ Amber ordered. Julia flattened herself against the wall again. Then Amber sighed, her energy deflating. ‘I won’t be able to avoid him at the fair. He’s probably staying in our hotel. Bollocks. I’m going to have to talk to him as if nothing’s happened.’ She retied her hair, bracelets on her arm clattering. ‘God it’s such a mess.’
Neither of them said anything. Amber was staring up at the ceiling, eyes closed. The overhead tannoy said something in French. The toilet door had been left open and banged repeatedly as the train sped through the tunnel. The old couple having the car picnic had put some Billie Holiday on the CD player.
Julia said, ‘I went on a crisis-management away-day at work once.’
‘I bet that was fun,’ Amber replied, dryly.
Julia grimaced, ‘We each had to say three interesting things about ourselves at the start. It was awful.’
Amber smiled.
‘Anyway,’ Julia said, picking a bit of dust off her skirt, ‘they said you need to try to change a negative to a positive.’
‘Yeah, I don’t see how that is going to happen here,’ Amber replied, fingers tapping on the railing. ‘There is no positive.’
‘OK well,’ Julia persevered. ‘The other main thing was to manage key stakeholder expectations.’
Amber snorted. ‘What the hell’s a stakeholder?’
‘The people involved,’ said Julia.
‘Why don’t they just say that? Why say stakeholder?’ Amber shook her head in despair. ‘I’m so pleased I don’t work in an office.’
Julia shrugged. ‘I just think, maybe it’s worth thinking about now. For you and Billy. I mean,’ she hesitated before pushing on, ‘especially if, you know, his real dad—’ she pointed towards the other train compartment where this guy’s van was parked. ‘You just need to manage expectations.’
‘Julia, this is not a work crisis,’ Amber replied, brow raised with disdain.
Julia felt her cheeks go pink and looked down at the dirty concrete floor.
Amber said, ‘Sorry. I know you’re trying. It’s just really stressful.’
Julia nodded.
Amber gave her a sidelong look. ‘So how are you going to manage your key stakeholders?’
Julia huffed. ‘Same as you,’ she said with a laugh. ‘By hiding out on this train.’
Amber gave her a wry smile. ‘See, that’s the best plan I’ve heard.’
After a second or two of doing nothing, Amber pushed off the handrail and crept covertly back to the van to grab two bags of Monster Munch and the newspaper she’d bought. Then darting back, she handed Julia a packet of crisps and they stood side by side, leaning against the railing eating Monster Munch and Amber reading out the questions of the Times 2 crossword to take their minds off it all.
When the train finally came to a stop, they climbed into the van, Amber with her head down out of possible view. The concertina dividers between the compartments opened and cars ahead started their engines. Amber waited so long to move, clearly putting as much distance as she could between her and the van of Billy’s possible father, that the cars behind started beeping. In the end, she exited the train way too fast, swearing at the honking cars behind, sun blinding, staff in orange flak jackets ushering them to slow. Her focus was on finding her sunglasses, locating them finally on her head. Julia gave the staff a cheery wave to make up for their speed and Amber’s disinterest.
Out on the road, the view from the van was an endless piercing blue sky. It was hotter here, which seemed inconceivable. The motorway shrubs and grass had yellowed in the heat. The odd patch of cloud did nothing to shade against the burning orb of early evening sun bellowing through the windscreen.
Their phones started pinging as they found reception. Amber’s was in the cup-holder and came up with a missed call from Billy. And a text from Ned: I really am sorry, Amber.
Julia read her own messages. One from O2 Roaming saying Welcome to France!
‘Anything from your husband?’ Amber asked.
Julia glanced across, more disappointed than she’d imagined. ‘No, nothing.’
Chapter Nine
Outside the window were perfect lines of forest trees, the light flickering through the tall trunks. They cruised the wide motorway. Signs pointing to Paris and Boulogne. The petrol gauge on the van beeping.
‘We need fuel,’ Amber said. She hated stopping. She just wanted to get places, get journeys done. She especially hated service stations. A hang-up from her youth when her mother decided they were one of the many places to find a replacement husband after Amber’s dad died: ‘You meet all sorts at a Little Chef, Amber, everyone has to stop for a pee and an empty tummy however posh they are.’ Amber shuddered at the memory of having to hang around places like this, sitting sullenly teenage, with her mum all dolled up, furtively rubbing lipstick off her teeth, while practising all her tricks to get attention from men at other tables. ‘I’m going to face this way, Amber, you tell me when he gets up to go to the loo. I don’t want to look too obvious.’ She remembered her mother once accusing her of deliberately acting sexy when a guy came to join them at their Burger King table. As if Amber were the competition rather than her daughter. It was all in vain anyway, because in the end, her mum had found her new man down the King’s Head pub, but she could just have easily have scraped him off the bottom of her shoe.
Right now though, Amber didn’t just need petrol, she needed a cigarette, some proper food and she wanted to call Billy.
They pulled into the next service station. The concrete miraging in the heat as sparrows fluttered in dust puddles.
Julia queued for food while Amber bought fags, and a toothbrush at Julia’s request, she was desperate to unwrap the pack but forced herself to wait till she’d made the call to Billy. The whole experience of giving up smoking was a battle with herself. Creating self-imposed hurdles to try and put off the inevitable.
She joined Julia in the cafeteria just as she was paying, all her purchases stacked neatly on a little tray. There were two espressos, two cheese baguettes, water and two apples.
Amber was not impressed with the apple and rejoined the queue to get a massive bag of crisps and a bar of Milka chocolate because it was Billy’s favourite.
Walking outside, they stood by a tall table in the shade of the main building to eat their sandwiches. It was an ugly, concrete place, all pitted walls and sharp angled glass, brutalist and efficient, Amber’s dream. Beside them was a lake with white ducks then nothing but fields.
Mayflies danced on the water and the sun shimmered through a wooden slated awning overhead.
Amber ripped off a bit of her baguette for the ducks.
‘You shouldn’t feed them bread,’ Julia said, covering her mouth with her hand as she ate and spoke. Then swallowing added, ‘It bloats them.’
‘I know the feeling,’ Amber said. ‘That’s why I’m giving it to the ducks.’
‘They like rice and peas.’
‘Bullshit do ducks like rice and peas. I have never in my life seen a duck eat rice and peas.’
‘Oh yes, in the pond at the village it’s all birdseed and rice and peas,’ Julia nodded.
Amber shook her head, des
pairing.
Julia suddenly laughed. It clearly took her by surprise because she nearly choked on her baguette. ‘Sorry,’ she said, coughing. ‘Sorry. It does suddenly seem really ridiculous – the rice and peas.’
Amber half-smiled.
Julia searched through her handbag for a tissue. Amber noticed the pink furry pompom, just like the one on Lexi Warrington’s handbag, and everyone else who trotted past her house like little matching sardines, and wondered how often Julia allowed herself to have her own thoughts. To question. No doubt ducks did like rice and peas, but seriously, Amber liked caviar and Richard Gere in his Pretty Woman days, didn’t mean she was going to get them.
Amber screwed up her baguette wrapper, drank the espresso and was about to dial Billy’s number when a booming voice said, ‘Well if it isn’t Amber Beddington?’
Amber froze. She felt all the hairs on her body stand on end and the blood rush to her skin. She could feel her cheeks get hot as she looked up to see two men walking towards them. The first was a tall solid figure, dark hair greying slightly at the temples, his face grooved with laughter lines, hooded eyes glinting. He wore a dark grey shirt open at the neck and black jeans. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal a tattoo of an arrow from his wrist to the crook of his elbow.
When he got to Amber he leant in and give her two big kisses on the cheeks, all wolfish grin and arrogant swagger. Amber could feel her tenseness locking her rigid, making her movements unnatural and her voice sound strange as she said, ‘Hi, Lovejoy.’ All her senses were on high alert, this was who – in light of Billy’s phone call – she was planning to avoid. This was real-dad candidate number one. She could feel her pulse thumping.
Lovejoy stood back, arms wide, oblivious as to any weirdness on Amber’s part. ‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’ he said, gesturing to himself. ‘Look, the beard’s gone.’
Amber nodded in acknowledgement, taking in his smooth, tanned jaw, but she felt like her movements were false, she was too self-conscious. ‘It does look better,’ she said, begrudgingly admitting to herself that he did look good.
The other guy who was with him was Martin, Lovejoy’s sidekick. He was younger, muscly but petite, with glossy blond hair down to his shoulder blades that hung in a centre parting. Always guaranteed to have a good outfit on, today he was dressed in a leopard print T-shirt, tartan kilt, chunky white socks and tan Timberland boots. He stalked forward and air-kissing Amber said, ‘I gave him a makeover.’
