Clara Meets The Parents (Clara Andrews #2) (2 page)

After waving off Oliver to his last day at work, I roll onto my back and fight the duvet for the television remote. The excitement of Mexico being a mere day away meant that I did not get much sleep last night. Part of me is glad to be up so early, since I have a full day of pampering planned. By the time Oliver comes home later, I am hoping to be golden brown and preened to perfection.

Rolling out of bed, I make my way into the bathroom and study the label on a bottle of fake tan. I purchased this on impulse yesterday. Apparently, it is guaranteed to give me a natural, healthy glow in only three short hours. I dig through the bathroom cabinet until I find the latex gloves that were left here by Lianna following a hair dye experiment gone wrong.

Pumping the dispenser, I have covered two arms and one leg by the time I realise I have forgotten to moisturise. Telling myself that it will be OK, I carry on smothering the worryingly dark mousse over my skin. Not wanting to look like a polar bear on the beach, I apply an extra layer to my pasty face, just to be sure.

Once happy that I am suitably bronzed, I chuck on one of Oliver’s old Nirvana t-shirts and head for the kitchen, nail varnish collection in hand. Flicking on the coffee machine, I pop some bread into the toaster and check the weather for Mexico on my phone. This has become somewhat of a morning ritual over the past few weeks. Bright sunshine and 90 degrees! Smiling like a crazy woman, I drown my toast in lovely butter. Too late to worry about my bikini body now!

Whilst I am munching on my breakfast, I pour out my nail polish selection onto the coffee table. Classic red? Canary yellow? Hot pink? My eyes land on a tiny bottle of vivid green polish that I purchased in a ‘buy one get one free’ at Superdrug last summer. Turning it over in my hands, I realise that it has never been opened. Daring to be different, I toss the rest back into the cosmetic bag and finish my coffee.

It takes me fifteen minutes of searching my bedroom to realise that I don’t have any toe separators. I have never been great at applying nail polish, but with the help of some cotton buds and copious amounts of acetone, they usually pass as half decent. Settling down on the carpet, I lay down some newspaper and get to work on transforming my toes.

As soon as I put the first layer on, I immediately question my decision. I am looking more like the Hulk than the Mexican beach babe I had intended. Discovering that I seem to have run out of nail polish remover, I have no choice but to continue with the Grinch nails unless I make a trip to the shops. A quick look out of the window at the thrashing rain makes the decision for me. Ugly nails are bad enough, but patchy tan really would be a disaster!

An hour or so later, I am standing under the bright bathroom lights, studying my glowing toenails dubiously. Oh well, too late to change them now. Just as I am about to go back into the bedroom, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror and let out a little gasp. The dark, khaki mess that stares back at me is not the look I was going for. Grabbing the bottle from the sink, I read the label frantically.

Product will appear several shades darker until showered off. Do not leave product on for more than three hours.

Feeling my heart rate begin to calm down, I set an alarm on my phone for exactly three hours from when I applied the mousse and shut the bathroom door behind me.

Trying not to think about the drastic colour of my skin, I throw open my wardrobe in search of the perfect plane outfit. When Oliver sprung the news that he had booked us first class seats, I was beyond elated. The only time I have been first class was on a train to Manchester. Incidentally, this was also courtesy of Oliver. I smile at the memory as I scan the contents of my wardrobe.

Flicking through the rails of skinny jeans, cowl neck tops and shift dresses, I come across a purple, empire line dress that I bought on holiday in Greece with Li. Taking it off the hanger, I stroke the silky fabric gently. It really is so pretty. The scooped neckline balances out the asymmetric hem which falls just below the knee. Dozens of white swallows scattered along the skirt give a contemporary feel to the retro design. Some might say it is a bit too much for sitting on a plane, but if you can’t go all out for first class, when can you?

Hours later, I am collapsed in a heap on the floor surrounded by more shoes than I knew I had. Hearing the alarm blaring out from my phone, I search around for it frantically. Not wanting to leave the tan on for a moment longer than advised, I dart to the bathroom and throw myself under the shower. As I watch the water turn a violent shade of black, I grab my exfoliating sponge and give my elbows, knees and ankles a good scrub.

It takes a worrying amount of time before the water starts to run clear. Satisfied that I have suitably washed off the grubby top layer and followed the guidelines exactly, I step out of the misty cubicle and feel around for a towel. Drying my eyes, I twist my wet hair into a tight bun and turn to face the mirror, totally not prepared for what I am about to see.

The label said natural, healthy glow! It certainly did not say patchy, rusty, orange mess! Oh, God! Feeling a little queasy, I shakily snatch the offending bottle of tan. How do I get it off? I need to get it off! My eyes land on the text I was looking for and I feel my heart sink to my feet.

Ultra long lasting results! Up to 3 weeks of guaranteed colour!

This cannot be happening.

When I finally stop scrubbing and exfoliating, my skin is very raw, very sore but unfortunately, still very orange. I have tried every product in my bathroom twice over and nothing has worked. Frustrated, I furiously launch the fake tan into the bin and wrap myself up in a bath robe. Marching into the bedroom, I notice the clock flashing 6.00pm, meaning that Oliver will soon be home. What am I going to do? This is not how today was meant to go.

I flop onto the bed and look down at my lucid green toenails and streaky bacon legs. Instead of unleashing my inner J.Lo as planned, I have been left looking like Kermit the frog with a severe peanut allergy. Feeling completely deflated, I toss the remaining essentials into my suitcase and fiddle with the lock. At least I have packed. That is one thing I can check off the list.

I decide to pour myself a very large glass of wine and look on the bright side. OK, so the beautifying didn’t go exactly to plan, but let’s look at the positives here. This time tomorrow, I will be in Mexico and green toes or not, I am most certainly going to enjoy it. It will take a bit more than a bad spray tan to ruin this one.

Two glasses of Rioja and an hour of online shopping later, I am starting to feel a little better about the whole ordeal. Clicking purchase for the tenth time, I am entering my card details when I see Oliver’s car pull up outside. Draining my glass in one swift gulp I jump up to grab another, momentarily forgetting about my shocking skin tone.

‘Hey you.’

I spin around to see Oliver dropping his messenger bag on the stairs.

‘Whoa. What the hell happened here?’ He laughs for a second before attempting to disguise it with a cough when he realises that I am not impressed.

‘It’s not funny! I followed all the instructions! I don’t know what went wrong.’ My voice starts to break and I cross my arms in a strop.

‘It’s not really that bad. Come here, let me see properly.’ Oliver holds out his arms and flicks on the bright landing lights.

Begrudgingly, I put down my wine glass and walk towards him. He studies my face and arms for a second before pulling me into a bear hug.

‘OK, here’s what we are gonna do. First, I am getting you an antihistamine. I’m no doctor, but it looks like you’ve had a reaction. Then I will run you a bath and we will have a nice glass of wine. How does that sound?’

He looks so concerned about me. I don’t have the heart to tell him I’ve already had three baths and sunk a bottle of red. Following him up the stairs, I watch as he sets the bath running before rummaging around in my bedside cabinet for the Benadryl.

‘Have you packed?’ I ask, hoping that the answer is yes.

‘All done. In fact, everything is done.’ He smiles happily and pours a ridiculous amount of my very expensive bubble bath into the tub. ‘Work is wrapped up for the week so all there’s left to do, is enjoy ourselves.’

I lean against the door frame and smile back at him. Oliver’s right. We have been looking forward to this for weeks. I would be a total fool to ruin it over a bit of orange skin. In fact, I am pretty sure that this is the look some women aim for. Yes, I have definitely seen people this colour before, I just can’t put my finger on where. Hoping that it isn’t the Umpa Lumpas that I am thinking of, I push the thought to the back of my mind.

‘I’ll go get the wine. You get your ass in there.’ He kisses my head and runs down to the kitchen.

Sinking into the bubbles, I dunk my shoulders under the hot water and allow myself to finally relax. I am looking around for my phone when I spot Oliver in the doorway, holding out two glasses and a new bottle of wine. I knew I loved him for a reason.

‘Room for a little one?’

‘Only if you take the tap end.’ I tease, holding my arms out for the wine.

Maybe today won’t turn out too bad after all.

By midnight, I have to admit that I am rather drunk and feeling quite giddy. It’s surprising how much a glass of wine - or three, can help you to put things into perspective. Once we had finished with the vino, Oliver thought that it would be a good idea to have some tequila shots. It seemed quite fitting with us being Mexico bound in the morning and I don’t know whether it is the lighting or the gallons of alcohol that I have swishing around inside me, but the nails don’t look that bad after all. The tan, however, is another story.

Even under the influence we have managed to get the majority of things sorted. My plane bag is packed and we have stuck the ‘in case of emergency’ numbers on the fridge for Helen next door. If I knew tequila could make me this productive, I would be pouring it on my cornflakes. Adrenaline plus tequila makes for one very happy Clara.

Loading up the dishwasher, I watch Oliver carry our luggage to the front door and lock up the house. It’s times like this when I am really glad to have a man around the place. How did I ever cope without him?

Ten minutes later, we collapse into bed in a ball of laughter and excitement. At first, I don’t think I will ever get to sleep. Images of turquoise waters and golden sands whirl around my mind, making me squirm with anticipation. Nevertheless, it doesn’t take us long to slip into a deep, alcohol induced sleep. The worries of fake tan and green toes are drifting further and further away.

Mexico, I hope you’re ready. We’re coming for you!

4.24pm

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: False advertising!

To whom it may concern,

I purchased this product on the promise of a natural, healthy glow.

Could you kindly explain why I look like a grubby baked bean?

Yours,

Miss Andrews

‘Oliver, get up! Get up! Get up! Get up!’ I shake him hard and jump out of bed, stubbing my little toe on the bed frame.

‘Ow!’ Crashing to the floor, I squeeze my foot hard and breathe through the pain.

‘What’s going on?’ He opens one eye slowly and leans over the bed. ‘What are you doing down there?’

‘We have overslept! We have to be at the airport in fifteen minutes! Get up!’ Scrambling to my feet, I dash to the bathroom and roughly drag my dress over my head. I shove a toothbrush into my mouth, almost losing some teeth in the process and pop my head back into the bedroom.

‘Oliver! Come on! We will miss the flight! Call a taxi!’ I shriek with a mouthful of toothpaste.

Teeth brushed, I hastily shove some wedges onto my feet and heave my plane bag over my shoulder. Tapping my feet impatiently, I watch as Oliver drags on some jeans and scurries around looking for his wallet. Deciding to make use of the spare few minutes, I quickly check that we have all the essentials.

Satisfied that we haven’t forgotten anything, I turn my attention to the mirror and let out an annoyed whimper. I seriously can’t believe that I am flying first class like this. I tip my hair upside down and give it a quick scrunch with some mousse. It may not be a face of MAC and a blow dry, but it’s all I’ve got time for. Swiftly gathering up my curls, I pin them back off my face and pull down a few loose tendrils.

‘Clara, the cabs out front.’ Oliver shouts up the stairs.

‘Can you take the cases to the car? I’ll only be a minute.’

Anxiously running around the house checking all windows and doors twice over, I strategically flick on a couple of lights and run down the garden path to the waiting car. Flustered, I slide onto the back seat and try not to be annoyed at a nonplussed Oliver, who looks irritatingly good considering that he was fast asleep and drooling only twenty minutes ago. Apparently, fifteen minutes is more than enough time for men to get dressed and ready.

Whilst Oliver and the driver talk animatedly about the golf, I dig a compact mirror out of my handbag and attempt to cover my dark circles. Using more highlighter than I knew possible, I just about bring my face back to life as the taxi pulls onto the motorway.

‘Mexico, eh?’ The gaunt driver looks in his rear view mirror and winks.

I smile back and feel butterflies fluttering in my stomach. It’s really happening! Reaching over the front seat, I give Oliver’s shoulder a little squeeze. Checking my watch, I realise that we will just about make it. There won’t be any time for shopping like I had hoped, but at least we will make the plane.

I am checking the tickets for the millionth time when the cab comes to a halt. Looking up, I am surprised by the crowds of people milling around outside the terminal. Judging by the matching fluorescent pink t-shirts they are all wearing, they can only be Benidorm bound.

Feeling rather smug at having first class seats, I step out of the taxi and watch Oliver exchange a couple of notes for our cases. Popping my new Biba sunnies onto my head, I stride confidently into the building. Now the holiday can really start.

‘I don’t understand. We paid for these seats weeks ago! I have the tickets right here!’ I thrust the papers under the check in assistant’s nose angrily. ‘Look!’

My cheeks are flushing a deep shade of red, making my nuclear tan look even darker.  Looking up at Oliver for help, he takes the tickets from me and steps up to the counter.

‘Look, ma’am. I understand that you’re just doing your job, but we’re gonna need to speak to a manager here.’ Flashing his mega watt smile, he runs a hand through his hair.

I watch the snotty woman’s frown melt as she looks into Oliver’s big, blue eyes.

‘Just give me a minute.’ She picks up a handset and scurries off quickly, scowling at me in the process.

‘How can they have double booked? It doesn’t make sense!’ Kicking my case in annoyance, I glare at the pink t-shirt brigade sniggering behind us.

‘Let me speak to the manager before we blow this all out of proportion.’ Oliver rubs his temples and taps his foot impatiently. ‘That must be him. You just wait here.’

I watch him make his way over to a rather short, tanned man in an ill fitting suit and try desperately to catch what is being said. They seem to be deep in conversation, Oliver showing him the plane tickets as if to demonstrate his point.

After a few minutes, they shake hands and Oliver accepts a shiny envelope before beckoning me over. Dragging my case behind me, I search his face for a clue as to the outcome.

‘Everything sorted?’ I ask, praying to every God known to man that it is.

‘Not exactly.’ He drops his holdall at his feet and sighs.

‘What do you mean?’ My heart sinks as I perch on the edge of my case.

‘Well, it turns out that the online booking system got hacked and a handful of bookings didn’t come through.’

‘And I’m guessing that ours was one of that handful?’ I look down at my feet and frown.

‘They did send us an email about it, but it went straight into my junk folder.’ He nods his head and hands me the envelope. ‘All is not lost though. They have refunded us in full and managed to get us complimentary seats in coach for the same flight.’ Oliver slips his arm around my waist and ruffles my hair. ‘That OK?’

I nod, just relieved to be still going.

‘All that matters is that we are together, right?’ He smiles down at me and kisses my head softly

‘You’re right. I guess these things can’t be helped.’ I squeeze his hand and take hold of my case as we start walking hand in hand back to the check in queue.

‘We’re still flying first class home though, right?’