Breakfast at Darcy's (6 page)

Like tourists following their guide who’s holding up an umbrella, we trail after Henry as he makes his way across the room,
his clipboard held aloft. When we get safely across the bar to the room where the party is being held, Samantha stands next
to Henry by the door and helps him check each one of us off before we’re allowed in.

Peeking through the doorway while I wait my turn, I can see an enormous ice sculpture of a mermaid standing elegantly in the
middle of the room. Next to her is a long table covered in a white cloth with tall glass vases full of purple orchids and
green foliage. Elegant, important-looking people mill about holding flutes of champagne, and waiters are moving busily to
and fro carrying more glasses of bubbly and trays of delicious-looking canapés.
Now this is more like where I should be hanging out
, I think as I move closer to the door
. No plastic toilet seats in there
.

At last, it’s my turn to enter the gates to heaven.

‘No, not you, Darcy,’ I hear, as I’m already halfway through the entrance.

‘What?’

‘I said, not you.’

I turn and stare at Samantha
. Is she being serious?
‘But why?’

‘I simply can’t have you in there wearing the same outfit as me. There are people in that room I want to impress tonight,
and if they see you in there in the same dress it just won’t have the same effect. You’re welcome to go home and change …
’ a cat-like smile spreads across her pale glossy lips ‘ … and when you return, just give a little tap on the door here and
I’ll make sure Brian lets you straight in.’

A burly-looking bouncer with a bald head gives a me a brief nod.

I take another longing look into the room again before turning to see Samantha’s smug, arrogant face waiting for my reaction.
I desperately try and think of a sharp retort, but as usual I can’t find the right words to say at the right moment. So, not
wanting to cause a scene, I swivel around on my oyster-coloured heels and stride away without saying a word. Marching back
into the bar, I hoist myself up onto one of the barstools covered in seaweed.

How can Samantha have the barefaced cheek just to stand there and say that to me? Who
does
she think she is? And, more to the point, how could I have just let her? I should have said something. I should have … But
as usual I hadn’t.

That is just me all over. I never have been very good at confrontation; not for as long as I can remember. I think it’s because
of my parent’s divorce; arguments, shouting matches, big shows of emotion of any kind aren’t my scene. Better to steer clear
of them than cause a fuss. Don’t rock the boat under any circumstances.

Aargh
, I think, as I wait for the barman to notice me so I can finally get some service. Roxi wouldn’t have let her get away with
it; she’d have shown her who was boss. Roxi never let anyone put her down. What would she do if she were here? *

*

But on waking the next morning, I wonder if I might have taken the boat metaphor a bit
too
far, because as I lay in my bed I feel like I’m actually in a boat that’s rocking gently up and down on the waves of the
sea. I open one eye at a time and yes, as I recognise the familiar surroundings of my bedroom I know I’m at least in my own
flat. But why are the walls wobbling, and the ceiling spinning gently above me?

I close my eyes for a moment again and then, instead of the gentle waves that have been buffeting my bed up and down, a huge
tidal wave comes crashing over me, reminding me just what did happen last night.

After I’d decided to deal with the situation in the same way Roxi would, I’d sat on the seaweed-covered stool and proceeded
to get extremely drunk for the rest of the evening. So far, so good. I do vaguely remember Sophie and one or two of the others
coming away from the party from time to time to see if I was OK, but I have a vague recollection now, as another wave brings
more information with it, of me shooing them away and telling them I didn’t need any of them because my new friends in the
bar were keeping me company. I think I must have meant the colourful cocktails I was drinking at such a pace, because I don’t
remember talking to anyone in particular that night apart from one of the bar staff. He was very attentive to me all night,
mainly I guess because I was spending so much money with him, and possibly because I was drinking alone. He was also incredibly
patient, too, listening to my ramblings all evening in between serving his other customers, and I vaguely remember him being
especially good when I fell off the barstool. But even he’s a bit of a daze now.

I try and sit up in my bed and the room spins even more.

Rolling over towards my bedside table, I pray there’s some water in the glass I usually fill before bedtime. But since I can’t
actually remember getting home last night, let alone getting into bed, I’m not surprised when I find there isn’t.

It’s no good, Darcy, you’re going to have to get yourself to the kitchen, even if you have to crawl
.

Somehow I manage to stagger, like a fairground bumper car bouncing off furniture and doorframes on the way, to my kitchen.
I’m glad for once that I only live in a tiny flat and not some huge mansion where the kitchen is a half-mile walk and two
floors away. As I’m about to open a cupboard to reach for a glass, I hear a noise behind me.

‘You made it through the night, then?’ Roxi says, standing in the door of the kitchen wearing only a Beyoncé tour t-shirt
and kitten-heeled fluffy pink slippers. Her leopard-print sleep mask is pushed up on top of her jet-black hair. ‘Only, by
the look of you last night when you came in, baby doll, I did wonder.’

‘Was I
that
bad?’

‘Darce, you were shaking moves around this house that even I would have been proud of. No,’ she holds up her hand and pulls
her t-shirt away from her ample chest. ‘Forget me, even the Queen B herself couldn’t have worked it like that.’

‘Oh my God, Rox, I was dancing? I don’t remember.’

‘The fact that you don’t recall last night’s events is a mystery that I don’t think we need to call a professional in to investigate.’
Roxi shuffles across the kitchen and picks up the kettle. ‘I think we both know what caused that. However, if it was a certain
Mr Will Smith dressed in black doing the investigating,’ she says, allowing herself to daydream for a moment. ‘Then I
might be forced into losing my memory too … Tea?’ she enquires, wafting the kettle in my direction.

‘Thanks, Roxi, but no … I think I need to rehydrate myself quicker than that. Quite a lot quicker, in fact.’ I lift a glass
down from the cupboard and go over to the sink. Turning on the tap to rinse it out in my hung-over state, I forget that our
kitchen taps are temperamental, and you have to turn the cold tap on gently at first before you can let it run fully. A huge
spurt of water shoots up, soaking the front of my pyjamas.

‘Darcy, what
are
you doing?’ Roxi shouts, as I stand motionless in front of the sink with the water still shooting up in the air. She rushes
over to take control of the errant tap.

As I turn to her, the freezing-cold water soaking through my pyjama top and onto my skin, another memory from last night begins
to seep fully into my aching brain …

‘Roxi, I don’t think we’ll be needing Will Smith, after all.’

‘What do you mean?’ she asks, looking puzzled.

‘I’ve just remembered everything that happened last night, and it’s not good. It’s not good at all.’

I tell Roxi everything that happened with Samantha and the bouncer. And as I predicted, Roxi’s reaction is somewhat stronger
than mine was.

‘If only I’d been there,’ she says, her dark-chocolate eyes narrowing in my defence. ‘I’d have wiped that smile right off
her face.’

‘Yes I know
you
would!’ I can’t help but grin at the thought of Roxi in all her Primark and New Look glory battling it out against Samantha
in her Gucci and Jimmy Choos. I know who I’d have bet on to come out victorious. ‘But you know what I’m like, Rox. Anyway,
it was you I was thinking of when this next idea suddenly washed over me. And I say
wash
… ’

Roxi looks at me suspiciously. ‘Darcy, you’re worrying me now. What have you done?’ She takes a bite of her bacon sandwich.
‘Are you sure I can’t make you anything, honey? It will do your hangover the world of good.’

I shake my head and shift uncomfortably on the sofa in the dressing gown I’ve now changed into. ‘No, really, Rox, you know
I can’t stomach breakfast at the best of times, and eating something this morning isn’t going to make dealing with this memory
any easier.’

‘I could break into my chocolate stash I keep hidden away in my room, if you like?’

‘No, I don’t think even chocolate would help me today.’

Roxi almost drops her sandwich in shock. ‘Oh my, now I know something ain’t right, when you don’t want chocolate. You better
tell Auntie Roxi, and fast!’

I sigh heavily as I have to take myself back to last night again. ‘Well, I’m in the ladies’ toilet, and Samantha comes in
while I’m washing my hands … ’ I begin.

‘Enjoying your evening?’ Samantha enquires, looking at my reflection in the mirror.

Her face is still unbearably smug as she stares back at me waiting for my reply, and suddenly I feel a wave of intense emotion
like nothing I’ve ever felt before. ‘It’s about to get a whole lot better,’ I reply, leaping away from the sink. The cold
tap I’ve been rinsing my hands under shoots water from its spout at full bore, splashing up out of the basin and on to whatever
is in its path.

‘Aaah!’ Samantha cries as water sprays all over her cream and oyster dress. ‘What the hell are you
doing
?’

‘Sorry, I must have turned the tap the wrong way there. Silly thing.’

‘But look at my dress, it’s soaked, it … it’s virtually see-through now!’ Samantha looks desperately at her reflection in
the mirror. Frantically she pulls the sheer fabric away from her chest.

Tilting my head to one side, I pretend to examine the situation in the mirror. ‘Maybe you could just pop home and change?’
I suggest. ‘I’m sure Brian will let you back in, if you give a little tap on the door when you get back, that is. Ooops, sorry
– did I say
tap
?’

And now, as I finish telling Roxi the whole sorry tale, I cover my face with my hands in shame. ‘Oh God, Rox, I can’t believe
I did that. I don’t know what came over me.’

‘Is that it?’ Roxi smiles in amusement. ‘I thought you’d flushed her head down the toilet or something. Blimey, us girls did
a lot worse to each other at the school I went to. Where did you go to school, Darcy, Miss Prim and Proper’s Academy for delightful
young gals?’ she grins. But when she fails to raise a smile from me, she continues: ‘You’re right, though, it doesn’t sound
like you. Maybe you’re just under a lot of pressure right now, with this whole island thing?’

I nod. ‘But it’s still no excuse. My aunt Molly always used to say if you do something bad, something bad will happen to you,
and vice-versa – doing good will bring equal good. Karma, it’s called. Samantha will make my life hell now at work, after
that little stunt. Maybe I should just go and live on the island after all.’

Roxi picks up her mug of tea. ‘What’s stopping you from going, anyway? If that was me, I’d be over there like a shot.’

‘No you wouldn’t. You’d be having the same dilemma I am. How am I going to cope over there for a year without all this?’ I
gesture round at the flat. ‘And how will I cope without you?’

‘Darce, you’ll be just fine. You don’t need me to hold your hand any more. I think I might have been doing that a little bit
too long now, anyway. Maybe it’s time you stepped out on your own. You can do this, you know it’s what you really want inside
here,’ and she points an electric-blue fingernail towards my heart.

‘I suppose … ’

‘No “suppose” about it. You go to this island and make it up to your aunt, then after the year is up you can live the dream,
do what you want with your life. I’ll be fine here, watching over our little pad, until that day comes. I know she must have
meant a lot to you, Darce, from what you’ve been telling me just lately.’

‘Yes, yes … she did.’

‘There you go, then.’ Roxi places her mug purposefully back down on the table and tries to tuck her ebony legs underneath
what little fabric her dressing gown is made of. Roxi wears just about everything in miniature. ‘Just go ahead and do it,
as Mr Nike says.’

‘You know, Roxi, I don’t think there is a Mr Nike. Nike was the Greek goddess of victory. I think that’s where the name comes
from.’

‘See, I told you you went to a better class of school than me,’ Roxi says, grinning. ‘I know nothing about history, completely
bored the pants off me at school. Now, I’m going back to bed. I work evenings in that pit of a pub so I can snooze in my bed
all morning, not be up playing agony aunt to you at some ungodly hour.’

‘You work in that pub because you like getting chatted up by all the blokes,’ I remind her. ‘The lie-ins are just an added
bonus.’

Roxi pretends to consider this while she yawns and stretches. ‘There is that,’ she admits, climbing up from the sofa. ‘I’m
not immune to the male of the species in its finer forms.’

‘In any form, in my experience,’ I mock.

‘Darcy McCall, I shall take that as a slight on my good Gospel upbringing, and take immediately to my bed. Even if it probably
is true,’ she says, winking as she exits the room.

I watch Roxi saunter off in her pink fluffy slippers, and I think again how much I’ll miss her if I go to live on the island.
Roxi has been my best friend since getting my first magazine job, and leaving all my other friends behind in the small town
in Kent where I grew up. We too had met in a pub, when I’d nearly got into a fight, accidentally knocking a girl’s vodka and
coke all over her. The girl was part of a biker gang who were in the pub that night, but luckily for me Roxi knew the leader
and managed to calm the situation. She came to my rescue that night, and we’ve been friends ever since. But she’s right, maybe
now’s the time to move on with my life, to put right some wrongs, balance the karma out. Or is that the other thing, yin and
yang? The system where, when something bad happens, something good has to come along to balance it out?