A Moral Dilemma: A Romantic Comedy Chick Lit Story (23 page)

“No,” he said. “Thanks but I’ve got some things to do tomorrow.” Suddenly not feeling a part of, or enjoying the dynamics of the Sunday crowd, I started kissing my good-byes to Seb, Juju and Abby. “Can I give you a lift home Becks?” Jeremy asked sounding all forlorn.

“No thanks,” I said, heading to the door.

He caught me up. “Becky, please,” he said just as I placed my hand on the handle. “Becks look, I’m sorry about the things said. I didn’t mean them. I’m miserable without you. Look…can we talk?”

I looked him dead in the eye. “Jeremy, I meant every single word that I said, and I’m all talked out. Goodbye.” And closed the door behind me.

C
hapter Sixteen

“What do you mean, Isabella cancelled?!” I asked Lauren.

“Well, her exact words were, ‘
I will no longer be needing her assistance
’,” she shrugged.

Portia raised her eyebrows. “Sounds pretty
cancelled
to me,” she said. But this didn’t make any sense.
I
was the one who was going to cancel
her
! First thing this morning, as a matter of fact.
I
was the one who had a few choice words lined up for
her
. Why would she be in such a hurry to cancel me all of a sudden? “Maybe she found out about you and Charles,” Portia quipped. I rolled my eyes at her as if to say:
There was never anything between Charles and I
. And it seems there really wasn’t.

Lauren and Portia watched me with what seemed to be concern, as I stepped past them into the staff room, where I could be alone with my thoughts. I had to think this stuff through. But there was so much
stuff
my head hurt. Why had she cancelled me? Maybe she really had found someone else to do the dirty on Charles. Maybe he’d told her about kissing me? Or maybe it wasn’t true about her having an affair. Maybe she was going to kick my ass! Suddenly, desperate for answers, I dived into my bucket bag, throwing out lipstick, powder and tampons until I finally grabbed hold of the all-knowing BlackBerry. I couldn’t switch it on quick enough. “C’mon!” I moaned as it took absolutely bloody ages to load. I stabbed at the digits; dialling into my voicemail, preparing myself for an onslaught of hostile messages from Isabella…and maybe one or two…not so hostile ones from Charles. I pressed the BlackBerry to my ear and didn’t quite comprehend when I heard it say: “
You have no new messages
.”
I stared blankly at it for a few seconds, and then decided to dial into voicemail again. Maybe it hadn’t loaded up properly. Maybe I had pressed the wrong button. Whatever the reason, there just HAD to be messages! I had it switched off all weekend. Surely Isabella would’ve wanted to know how it went on Friday. And Charles…I know he said he couldn’t see me again…but surely…surely he would’ve called to just say hello?
You have no new messages
. Evidently not. I threw the BlackBerry back into my bucket bag. Where it could rot for all I cared! He couldn’t even have called to see how I was feeling after what had happened?! OK, so I had missed calls on Saturday morning…which I didn’t return…but that is not the point. A missed call didn’t mean a thing. A message, on the other hand, would’ve shown…that he cared. I rubbed my temples, trying to process this data. So, if a message meant that he cared, no message meant…that he didn’t care? No. There had to be some other reason. Maybe he and Isabella had worked things out. Decided to give things another go. They are married after all. Hmmm. I know I should feel happy at the thought of this
delightful
prospect…but let’s just say I didn’t exactly feel like skipping through the meadows.

Portia came into the staff room and sat down on the bench beside me. “Are you OK?” she asked.

“Hmm, hmm,” I lied.

“Rebecca look,” she sighed heavily, “I’m not really sure if I should tell you this or not, but Johnnie told me something about Charles yesterday.”

“I don’t want to know!” I snapped at her. I really couldn’t care less if Charles and Isabella had got back together. It would’ve been nice I suppose, for one of them to have told me personally, but as they hadn’t, I definitely didn’t want Portia or anyone else for that matter to throw me a pity party! I don’t bloody well need it! I turned my chin up at Portia and said: “I am not at all interested in anything to do with either Charles or Isabella Coombs.”

Portia gave me a look which let me know she didn’t quite believe me. “OK. If that’s how you want it.”

“I do.”

“Fine. But if you change your mind…it’s a juicy bit of gossip,” she teased.

“I won’t.”

Lauren popped her head round the door. “Becky, Mrs Dobson’s cancelled today, some family crisis, and her daughter’s asking if you could see her at the squash club ASAP instead. Yes? No? Maybe so?”

“Yeah, sure,” I said. “I’ll be there in an hour.” Then turning to Portia, “What is this? Cancellation Monday?”

She laughed. “Well at least your facial lesson hasn’t cancelled…
yet
. How’s that going anyway?”

“Great. She’s convinced it’s knocked five years off already.”

“Wow! Really?”

“It does work you know Portia. You should let me give you a few lessons.”

Portia touched her face and looked in the mirror. “Now you and I both know that I definitely don’t need to look any younger.”

“True,” I teased, “not with the old age pensioners you like to date!”

Portia turned to look at me, smiling sweetly. “You mean, not with the old age pensioners
WE
like to date.”

Anita Dobson’s squash club wasn’t nearly as busy mid-morning as it was at the crack of dawn. How on earth do these people find the energy to play squash before going to work, I wondered. Surely by the time they showered, changed into their suits and got to work, they were already knackered? ‘
Invigorated
’ was what Anita had called it. I was waiting for Anita in the reception area, checking out all the club trophies on display and I saw that Anita herself had won quite a few; the British, Spanish and Hurghada Opens. And others from countries I hadn’t even heard of. It was almost unbelievable that Anita was Mrs Dobson’s daughter! She was fresh faced and wholesome, believing wholeheartedly in totally natural body conditioning, whereas Mrs Dobson, who was glamorous and chic, thought all this ‘body conditioning’ was far too much work. “Why bother,” she had said when I asked her why she didn’t give squash a try at Anita’s club, “any conditioning I need can always be sorted with a little nip and tuck.”

“Hi Becky,” Anita said greeting me with a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for coming down at such short notice.”

“No problem,” I smiled. “So you just can’t do without the lessons huh,” I teased.

Anita laughed. “Actually, I don’t want to do a lesson today. I’d like to talk to you about something else,” she said sounding quite excited.

“Oh,” I said, trying to hide the fact that I was now in a mild state of panic, thinking what the bloody hell did this one want me to do for her?!

“Don’t worry,” she laughed. “It’s good news. I promise. Let’s go in my office shall we?” I followed Anita down the hallway to a rather small but neat and very cosy little bohemian style office. The floors were dark oak and covered with a large patterned rug, with an array of rich decadent colours. The desk, stacked high with racquet sports magazines, was also dark oak and had a pretty little lamp embellished with multicoloured jewels, and the feature walls were burnt orange and completely covered with green and blue bejewelled photo frames with black and white photos. I looked at Anita in her neat white squash outfit, and apart from the two single beaded
plaits that fell amongst her long blonde hair, I just couldn’t place her in this space. “What can I say,” she smiled, “I’m a hippie at heart.”

“I love your wall of photos,” I smiled at her.

“Isn’t it great?” she said at my side, “I don’t see my family as much as I’d like to, as I’m always working, so this way, they’re always with me.” I looked at the photos of Mrs Dobson looking rather sour faced in a kaftan. “Ah, yes, that was when Mum suggested I choose the family holiday that year. So we went to Iran.”

“No way!”

“Did too. Not a designer store in sight. Mum was most upset.” We both laughed.

Then I spotted a photo of General Scots. “I’ve met this man!”

“The General? Really? He’s such a darling. My uncle. He and my brother’s father served together.”

“Your
brother’s father
?” I asked, not realising until after I’d said it, just how ‘prying’ that sounded. But Anita didn’t seem to mind at all.

“Yes
. My brother’s father,
mother’s first husband
, passed over forty years ago. My brother was only three at the time.”

“Oh,” I said, wishing I hadn’t asked.

“Look,” Anita said pointing at a photo, “this is me with him when I was seven.” I looked at the photo of a cute little Anita standing next to a rather mischievous looking boy. He looked as though he really didn’t want to be in the picture, but would’ve got a clip around the ears if he didn’t stand still. And something about the way he was screwing up his eyes seemed familiar. “And here’s a more recent photo of him.” I turned to look at the photo she was pointing at, and took a sharp intake of breath when I saw it. It was a photo of a very handsome, very happy, Charles Coombs! I stared at the photo, grateful that Anita was standing to the side of me, so couldn’t see the shock on my face. Charles was her brother?! Mrs Dobson’s son! Oh. My. Good. Gawd! Suddenly suspicious as to why Anita had bought me into her office, and of what she wanted to talk about, I turned to her with my best neutral face.

“So,” I said, “what did you want to talk about?” She seemed a little taken aback at my sudden change of attitude and question, but recovered quite quickly with the same excited face I saw earlier.

“Oh, sure,” she said. “Come and sit down.” I sat cautiously beside her, on the edge of an Aztec sofa. She beamed at me. I gave her my ‘
what’s going on
’ look.

“Rebecca, I think your facial exercises are absolutely brilliant,” she said brightly. “I’ve noticed a huge improvement already! I mean, these exercises really work!” I carefully nodded my agreement, wondering what all this had to do with Charles and if she had lured me in here just to show me his photos. “Anyway, I’ve been raving about these exercises for weeks, and my partner, Susan, thinks they’re a great idea too.” Did she just say Susan? That’s a strange name for a guy. Maybe he’s from Iran or some other exotic country. “Susan works in health and fitness publishing and she totally agrees with me that your facial exercises should be made accessible to every woman.” Her partner is a
she?
Holy cannoli. “So, Susan wants to meet you, to see if you’re interested in doing a book and DVD deal for them. Isn’t that great?!” I saw Anita’s mouth moving, and I could hear the words, I just couldn’t digest them. She was Charles’ sister. But this meeting really had nothing to do with him. She probably didn’t even know I knew him. And she had a girlfriend. Whoa. Who wanted to meet me. Whoooaa. And she wanted to offer me…a book and DVD deal?! WHOOOAA!! “So Becky, what do you think?”

“What do I think?”
I laughed. I wanted to bound off the sofa and give her a great big kiss! But in light of the new ‘orientation’ information just received, I really wasn’t sure if that would be appropriate. “Anita that’s great! I can hardly believe it! A book of
my
facial exercises?!”

She gave me a wide-eyed smile and nodded. “And a DVD! Susan thinks it would sell world wide. She’s already thinking book-tours!”

“Wow! So when do I meet her?”

“Well, if you don’t mind waiting for me to freshen up and change, I can drive you over there now.”

By the time I got back home it was already 7pm and the last thing I felt like doing was Body of Life training, not that we ever actually did any training per se, but I still didn’t feel like going down the gym to sit around looking pretty. That said, I was
way
too excited about being published that I just had to tell Juju and Abby about it. Plus a part of me was dying to know if they managed not to kill each other on their sleepover last night.

“So where’s madam?” I asked Julia, taking up position beside her on the couch. She nodded pensively in the treadmill direction where Abigail was unbelievably walking an incline. Painfully slow, but walking nonetheless. “Hah! What
is
she doing?” Then I spotted Mr Adonis on the treadmill next to her. “She’s not still after that dufus is she?”

“Doubt it,” she said flatly. “Probably keeping as far away from me as possible.”

“Tut! Did you guys have a fight last night?”

“No,” she said watching Abby carefully. “We hardly spoke actually. Abby stayed up most the night talking to Seb. They both crashed out on the couch.”
Really?!

“Oh,” I said with my best poker face on. “So, is that why you’ve got the hump today?”

“What?” she asked turning to look at me. Then realising I was probably implying she was jealous of Abby crashing out with Seb, she gestured her hand in a dismissive motion. “Oh I don’t care. Abby’s always been closer to Seb than she has with me.”

“Juju! That’s so not true!”

“Oh yes it is Becky,” she stated so calmly that I couldn’t quite tell if she really wasn’t bothered, or if she was just pretending not to be. “You know as well as I do, he was her first love. Actually, her
only
love.” I opened my mouth to say something but couldn’t think of anything to say. I just couldn’t believe that Julia had mentioned the unmentionable! Of course I knew about Abby and Seb’s romance, but this little nugget had been chalked up as history long ago. So why on earth was Julia mentioning it now? “I know she thinks I don’t deserve him.”