Croissants and Jam (13 page)

    ‘Brakes are bloody good,’ he observes. ‘So, are you and your bro on speaking terms now then?’

    ‘Well, only if we swear at each other and you know I hardly ever swear.’

Jesus, this whole thing is getting more complicated by the minute. Why I ever offered the woman a lift is beyond me. Well, of course, that isn’t strictly true. I thought it would be nice to have some company. I never imagined I would actually grow to like her. Amazingly she has some very nice qualities, like her generosity for instance. She didn’t make a fuss about taking her turn driving and the way she wanted to pay for her share of the shopping was rather nice. I fill the Lemon up with petrol while Robin gives her the once over.

    ‘I wouldn’t mind driving it back,’ he smiles, and I throw him the keys.

    ‘Just go steady on the clutch, it’s slipping a little,’ I advise.

At least the Lemon will keep him occupied. Hopefully he won’t mention Claudine again. He crunches the gears and I laugh when I think what Bels would be saying now.

    ‘Is the legal thing still going through?’ Robin breaks into my thoughts.

    ‘It sure is.’

Shit, Robin. He is like a dog with a bone. No letting go it seems.

    ‘You never answered me. How come Claudine has a British accent then? I can’t get my head round that. All of a sudden your Texan girlfriend is British?’ he asks curiously and crunches the gears again.

    ‘Steady on Robin, those gears are antique and probably irreplaceable. There is a knack to driving this car.’

    ‘Okay, okay. So how come she has a British accent then?’ he persists.

I sigh. It’s no good. I can’t lie, and he isn’t going to give up.

    ‘That’s because she is British and her name is not Claudine. It’s Bels actually.’

He swerves slightly and I feel myself tense and point to a lay-by.

    ‘I don’t want you to smash up the Lemon. It’s my only mode of transport right now, plus Bels would seriously kill me. I have to get her to her wedding.’

He silently pulls into the lay-by and shakes his head.

    ‘You’ve totally lost me mate. She isn’t Claudine, and she’s actually getting married? Bloody hell, you slept in our spare bedroom with her last night.’

Does he really have to sound so appalled? I exhale.

    ‘Nothing happened, apart from her getting cramp.’

    ‘It all sounds bloody complicated old chap.’

I shrug.

    ‘It’s not too complicated really. We’re both going to Rome and the flight got diverted when this passenger got sick. We missed the second take off and it was kind of my fault. I bought the car and offered her a lift basically. She’s going there to get married. Sorry for the deceit. It all just seemed so complicated at the time.’

He nods at me.

    ‘Right, well these things happen, I suppose,’ he says thoughtfully.

    ‘Yeah.’

    ‘So, you two had never met before the flight?’

    ‘No, never set eyes on her.’

He nods again and then we are both silent.

    ‘Does Claudine know then?’ he asks suddenly.

    ‘Hell, no,’ I sigh, ‘my relationship with her is a bit strained as it is. I tell you the way she spends money. Well, the way she spends my money is just ridiculous.’’

He turns the key in the ignition.

    ‘You’d never think you two had only just met. Does she know about Claudine?’

I feel myself tense.

    ‘Blimey Robin, so many questions I feel like I’m on
Who wants to be a Millionaire
, yes she does, well, no, she doesn’t… That is she knows of her but, well I don’t think she’s that interested to be honest. Why should she be?’

    ‘She’s a good laugh. I liked her.’

I am relieved when he finally drives out of the lay-by and we are on our way to Treetops. In a few hours I can deposit her safely in Rome and into her fiancé’s arms and I won’t need to explain why I am with her. I will be able to continue with my life and forget we ever met. Although the way her damn perfume lingers in the car may make it a bit difficult. I’ll have to get the car fumigated after we arrive in Rome. I can’t help wondering what the hell she is doing with such an arsehole though. Robin crunches the gears again.

    ‘Hey Robin, come on, treat her gently.’

He laughs mercilessly.

    ‘You have to admit Bels has a point. The thing is a bit of a wreck.’

    ‘Her fella sounds a right arsehole from what she has told me.’

    ‘Oh yeah?’

    ‘A classic arsehole in fact,’ I repeat.

    ‘She likes you.’

    ‘Do you think?’

I don’t say that I actually like her too. We slowly enter the driveway.

    ‘Yup, but still as you say, she’s getting married.’

I nod.

    ‘Indeed, she is.’

    ‘That’s that then.’

Indeed, it certainly is.

Chapter Ten

    Olivia and I are sitting in the lounge when Robin and Christian bounce in like two excited schoolboys.

    ‘That car is bloody unbelievable for its age, it’s a real classic, I’ll get my book, I am sure there is one that old in it,’ Robin enthuses.

    ‘He loves the Lemon
,
’ grins Christian. ‘I told you, it is a brilliant car.’

He sits beside me on the couch and I move slightly. Robin returns with several books. I sigh when I see they are all books about bloody cars. He flicks madly through one and then shouts.

    ‘Here it is. I told you, you got yourself a real bargain man.’

I roll my eyes at Olivia.

    ‘Yes, I knew it. I would have paid three times that much if I had hired one,’ Christian responds while nudging me.

    ‘Oh ye of little faith, that car will pay me back a thousand-fold, I really felt I robbed the guy,’ he says with a twinkle in his eye.

After a quick coffee we say our goodbyes with promises to return. As I hug Olivia she whispers ‘phone me soon’. We are about to set off when Robin hands Christian a large frame.

    ‘I thought you would like this. Let’s face it, without all your hard work we would not be here.’

I strain to see the photo. It is of Treetops. So, I was right, Christian is an upper-class builder. He looks chuffed and hugs them both. Blimey, a bit extreme for someone who probably just arranged for the bricks to be there and maybe helped with a bit of plastering. Still, all the same, I envy him the photo.

    ‘I hope you enjoy it,’ Robin smiles, ‘and it’s been a real pleasure meeting you,’ he continues while shaking my hand enthusiastically and giving me a curious wink. I wonder if Olivia has mentioned something about me not being the beloved Claudine. I realise that Christian has not phoned or texted her for some time and strangely that makes my heart sing.

***

    It is one day before my wedding and just a few hours before my rehearsal and I cannot bring myself to turn on my Blackberry. Just about everyone who is attending the wedding must be in Rome by now, except me of course. I seem to be the only one who can’t quite seem to make it to Rome. I can imagine Simon seething. I don’t even want to imagine what his parents are saying, let alone what they are thinking. Why is it, I can’t seem to get there? My parents will have met my future in-laws by now. How fatal is that? Mother is bound to have waffled about her ‘Touch the Spot’ group. Oh God, that would just be dead embarrassing. In fact, she has probably just waffled. Oh my God, all I want to do is go home, but no one is at home anymore, they are all in sodding Rome. I think longingly of London and my cosy flat which I have to keep reminding myself, I will not be returning to. Most likely all my things are in the new, jointly mortgaged to the hilt, flat by now. The minor anxiety I had felt at the start of the week had escalated to panic, hence the visit to my mother, and now it is evolving into a nervous breakdown. Maybe I could develop amnesia and claim not to know Simon or my mother when I arrive. I look to Christian who has turned the volume up on the radio and is now doing a one-hand jive to Rihanna. He beckons me to do the same and turns the volume up even more. I hear Simon’s voice. ‘For goodness sake Bels, what will people think?’ Poor Simon and his ‘What will people think?’ What will they think of my swearing, what will they think of my jokes, in short what will they think of
me
? I really should stop letting that man boss me around so much. I now own three Mahler CDs because Simon thought it was time I appreciated a good composer. Frankly I can very easily get through a day without Mahler, but have never told Simon that. Is it really so bad being thirty and not married? Oh God, yes. Now, I no longer have to find escape routes in bars when my blind date looks like Prince Charles, or sit by the phone waiting for the call that never comes. I no longer need to worry about my biological clock. I have gained respect from my married friends who no longer hide their husbands from me. Last week I was very happy, convinced that Simon was the perfect match for me. My mum adores him and Alex said a slightly older man was what I needed. I suppose they are right. Oh but why, right at this moment, do I feel a slightly older very responsible solicitor is the biggest mistake I could make? I pull myself from my reverie and fling off my sandals as though freeing my feet will help me hand-jive better. Five minutes later I am singing at the top of my voice with Christian doing the backing vocals. I recall the last time I had done something similar. It was the night I had met Simon. I had drunk far too much and was dancing to Lady Gaga and singing loudly. I had spun around and the Thames was looming. Simon had grabbed my skirt, not too gallantly, and with a twist of his hand I was in his arms, and my phone was in the water. ‘Oh shit, my phone,’ I had groaned. I had found myself looking into his warm hazel eyes. At that moment the music changed and he was spinning me round the dance floor. Later Kaz told me that I had been the first woman he had approached after a long-term romance of his had ended.

    ‘He took it badly and was pretty messed up for a while. We all rallied around him but you know how it is. He’s very available Bels,’ she had said keenly.

It all felt so right, but it all happened so quickly and I soon found out that fun for Simon was the Law Society and their boring dinners.

    ‘Life can’t always be fun, it is time for you to take things seriously Annabel,’ my mother had advised me. ‘After all, you are thirty now.’

    ‘I can’t believe you knew all the lyrics,’ Christian laughs as he turns the volume down.

I realise we are pulling into a garage.

    ‘Right, Madame Hood, keep your head down. I want to pump up the tyres.’

He is not wearing the Marc Jacob jumper today, so I can look at him without being reminded of Simon, not that I am able to forget Simon, it is just that I would very much like to. He is wearing a light blue shirt open loosely at the neck and a pair of jeans. The white jumper he had bought in the hypermarket hangs down his back and the sleeves tied at the front. I remember Simon dressing in a similar way when we had gone punting one weekend in Oxford. Christian, I have to admit, carries it off much better. There is something very relaxed and calming about Christian, and the effect he has on me is quite intoxicating. I have a
devil may care
attitude when with him. He is smiling as he pours oil into the Lemon and pumps air into the tyres. I watch him walk into the store and see the man at the till looking at me through the window. I quickly slide down in my seat. The last thing I need is another run-in with the police. A car pulls up alongside and I slide down even further. Christian climbs back in and throws a newspaper at me.

    ‘You are on page three,’ he laughs, ‘and looking very decent for a page three girl I must say.’

I open page three and cry out.

    ‘Oh I look gross.’

    ‘I think you look quite menacing,’ he laughs turning on the radio. ‘Let’s see if you are still on the news.’

    ‘Oh
purleese
. Sometimes, I think you enjoy this,’ I sit up and pull my hair into a scrunch.

    ‘Of course I do. It’s fun.’

I look again at the pictures. This time the pain is less brutal. At least I look slim and thank goodness I had changed out of the Dior blouse and ripped tights. Actually, I look quite nice. What am I thinking? This is the most catastrophic thing that could happen. What if Simon sees it? I don’t somehow imagine his first words will be.

    ‘You actually looked quite nice.’ They are more likely to be, ‘What the fuck!’

    ‘What if they see this in Italy?’ I sob.

    ‘Italy! You’re not that famous, as it is you have only made the French version of
The Sun
. The higher class papers wouldn’t touch you with a bargepole. Come on, be honest, you can’t blame them.’

He laughs again and turns the volume up louder when the news comes on.

    ‘By the way do they still sell
The Sun
in England?’

    ‘I wouldn’t know, I don’t read such trash,’ I reply snobbishly.

    ‘No, you just appear in it. Ah ha, this is you on the news.’

I groan and cover my face with his cap.

    ‘What are they saying?’ I ask reluctantly although I really would rather not know.

His phone bleeps several times and his face clouds over. He is silent for a few minutes and I feel decidedly uncomfortable. I shift in my seat, hold my breath and finally blurt out.

    ‘Do you want me to check that for you?’

He doesn’t speak but chews his lip thoughtfully before reading the text. I throw the newspaper onto the back seat and spot the nougat. Oh God, this is just hopeless. I tear open the packet. Oh well, one won’t hurt. I offer an éclair to Christian who shakes his head. I stare at him shocked.

    ‘Good Lord, it must be bad if you’re not eating.’

He starts the engine, turns the steering wheel and screeches across the road. I scream as he manoeuvres between several cars who hoot madly in response at us. He pulls into a small entrance, almost hitting the gate. The nougat flies off my lap and lands at my feet. Before I can speak, he is out of the car.