Croissants and Jam (26 page)

    It’s been well over a month since the wedding that never was and I still can’t seem to get my head around work. I spend hours staring at my keyboard and wondering about Christian and whether he ever thinks of phoning me. Whichever way it goes, he never does. Then I spend hours on end being grateful that he hasn’t and hope that he has lost my number. So, it came as no surprise when my boss called me in for a meeting.

    ‘Bels, sweetie, do you want to tell me what is going on?’

I flop into a chair and look across the large mahogany desk at Justin. I pull a face at the purple streak in his hair.

    ‘Purple suits you,’ I lie.

His eyebrows arch.

    ‘I didn’t call you in here to talk about my hair and don’t bloody lie,’ he replies, running his hand through his shoulder length locks.

I sigh. Oh well, no harm in trying to change the subject.

    ‘I’m sorry,’ I mumble. ‘My mind has not been on work.’

He nods.

    ‘Is it Simon?’ he asks kindly.

    ‘God, no,’ I reply quickly and bite my lip.

His eyebrows rise again and he looks at me questioningly.

    ‘You write a shite article, forget to arrange a car for Kathy Monroe, no less…Thank God, she has forgiven us, and you faff around the office like some bimbo.’

I cringe.

    ‘But worse, you send Gabrielle to cover the Paris fashion show exactly one month too early. I mean, I can’t abide lateness but that was ridiculous.’

    ‘Yeah, I really don’t know how I got those dates mixed up,’ I say wrinkling my forehead.

He shakes his head.

    ‘And the hotel you booked for the sports fashion exhibition was ten miles from the centre. Are we all expected to run, in our fashionable sports kit, from the hotel to the exhibition hall?’

I pull a face.

    ‘In my defence, I have sorted that out now,’ I argue feebly.

He stands up and towers his lean body over me.

    ‘I want you to take a holiday.’

I also stand up and my head collides with his chest.

    ‘But I’ve just had…

    ‘Am I the boss, or am I the boss?’

I nod.

    ‘Okay then. Now, in just over a week we have the big McQueen shoot with India Pilano and I need you here for that because you have organised everything. But, after that, I want you to take yourself off somewhere for two weeks.’

    ‘Two weeks,’ I cry. My God, what am I going to do with myself for two whole weeks? I’ve already been to the spa and shopping at Milton Keynes. Shit, he really cannot be serious, surely?

    ‘But, really Justin, work is the best place to get my mind off things,’ I say, trying not to plead.

    ‘Yes, but most of the time your mind is
off work
, sweetie. You are the best features editor I have, but right now you are bloody useless to me. Yesterday you spent longer making coffee and washing up than you did on your bloody computer. I don’t need a bloody Stepford wife working here.’

Oh dear. I open my mouth to speak but am saved from pleading by the ringing of the phone. Justin leans behind him and clicks on the speaker phone.

    ‘Justin Rowley,’ he barks.

    ‘Oh Justin, it’s Bels’ mother, Kitty. I did phone her office and Kaz said she was in a meeting with you. I wonder if I could have a quick word. It’s a bit urgent.’

    ‘Ah, Kitty, you have another emergency. Never quiet in your house is it?’

Justin frowns and I pull a face.

    ‘So, how is the dog, I forget its name? Did you sort out that little emergency with its paw yesterday?’

Mother gives a little embarrassed cough.

    ‘Oh yes.’

He rolls his eyes,

    ‘Ah good, as I would hate to think I called Bels out of an important photo shoot for nothing. So what is the emergency today Kitty? Does the dog have worms now? Oh no, that was Monday’s problem wasn’t it?’

I feel myself cringe.

    ‘Oh, I won’t keep her five minutes,’ reassures my mother.

    ‘Well, that’s fine. We’re only on a conference call with Brad Pitt. I’ll just put him on hold on line two while you discuss your little emergency. I am sure he won’t mind in the least. Your mother, I believe,’ says Justin, handing the phone over. I blush furiously.

    ‘Mother, what are you doing phoning me at work again? I am in the middle of an important meeting.’

    ‘Oh Justin doesn’t mind. I didn’t know Brad Pitt was a client. You never mention it.’

I quickly turn off the speaker phone so she doesn’t hear Justin’s deep sigh.

    ‘Mother, you can’t keep phoning me at work like this, what is it this time?’

She makes a tutting sound.

    ‘I need you to come over after work and help me sort through all the things for the auction, and I don’t want you making any plans for Saturday. It’s the fund raiser for Kat’s son.’

I let out a groan,

    ‘Mum, I am not coming to the fund raiser. I will be bored to death.’

    ‘Corinne’s son will be there. He is recently divorced and very well off. He is desperate to get married again. He is…’

Oh no.

    ‘Not now Mum. I’m at work.’

    ‘Don’t eat, okay? Dad can fetch you and take you back, that way you can have some wine with us. We will discuss it later.’

The phone goes dead and I stare apologetically at Justin.

    ‘She’s worried about me,’ I explain.

He flicks his hair back.

    ‘Sweetie that is why I am giving you a holiday, so you can go away for two weeks and give us all a break from your mother.’

I nod reluctantly, knowing he is right. I have been back at work almost three weeks now and they might as well hire a dishcloth for all the good I have been. My mind seems to be constantly on my spinsterhood. I did worry for the first week about Simon and if he was coping okay. Kaz, however, has seen him a few times now and tells me, he is doing just fine which is more than can be said for me. Christian has not been in touch, not that I really expected him to be. I have finally stopped looking at his photo on Google and abandoned all ideas of requesting his friendship on Facebook. I spend my evenings eating cheese on toast or marmite sandwiches and watching old episodes of
Friends
. I mean, how bloody depressing is that? Mother phones twice a day. Once at work and again in the evening when I get home, and I beginning to wonder if I am on suicide watch. Justin taps me on the shoulder.

    ‘Go home early sweetie and look for holidays on the Internet.’

A holiday for one, oh yes, very appealing
, not.

***

    ‘It is very generous of him to let you have two weeks like that.’

I place wine glasses on the table and smile at my dad who looks at me over his spectacles.

    ‘Yes, but a holiday alone, I mean, where can I go?’ I try not to sound too ungrateful.

    ‘I think India would be a wonderful place to go. It is so exotic,’ says my mother, almost dropping a steak and kidney pie onto the table mat. I return to the kitchen and fetch the salt and pepper while my dad carries in roast potatoes. My stomach rumbles at the smell of them and my mouth waters at the sight of the apple crumble sitting on the hob. I attempt to ignore the Stella McCartney ‘mother of the bride dress’ that hangs in the hallway. Mother has decided to auction it off at her fancy fund raiser for her cleaner’s son who is going blind. I have no idea why he is going blind or even why my mother wants to get so involved in raising money for his private treatment. The problem with having a do-gooder mother is that you almost always get dragged into her good works.

    ‘Maybe Annabel doesn’t want exotic,’ argues Dad.

I pile roast potatoes onto my plate and wait while Mother cuts the pie.

    ‘Of course she does,’ replies Mum taking my plate and piling it high with steak and kidney pie.

I shrug at my dad who sighs resignedly and hands me the gravy dish. At last some decent food. After tucking into forkfuls of pie and potato I finally take a gulp of wine and sigh contentedly. My mother’s pastry really is superb and the steak is beautifully tender and moist. But best of all, are her roast potatoes, golden brown and perfectly crispy. I must admit, if anything could tempt me back home it has to be Mother’s perfect roast potatoes.

    ‘Are you meditating?’ she asks, carefully spooning peas into her mouth.

I nod, although of course I am not. I did try lighting the joss sticks she gave me but after just ten minutes the smell of them had given me a thumping headache and instead of meditating I had gone to bed with two Paracetamol. Candice barges through the lounge doorway and proceeds to lick my feet. I cringe and pull them up underneath me.

    ‘Your mother tells me, you are helping with the fund raiser on Saturday,’ says my dad pulling Candice off me.

I nod reluctantly.

    ‘Of course she is helping. It will keep her mind off things. Besides I want her to meet Jack Russell.’ Mum looks at me over her glass of wine.

    ‘Jack Russell,’ I splutter. Who the hell is Jack Russell? And do I really want to meet him? Jesus, couldn’t he have had a better name than a breed of dog?

    ‘Mum, I really don’t think it is a good idea. I mean it has only been a few weeks…’

    ‘Nonsense,’ she snaps, cutting more pie and plonking it onto my plate. ‘It is like riding a bicycle. You have to get back on again quickly.’

I stare open-mouthed at her. Like riding a bicycle? She surely is not serious?

    ‘Well…’ I begin.

    ‘Jack is very nice and the perfect catch. Okay, he may not be a solicitor but he earns just as much. He is a self-made man and you have to respect that,’ she says looking hopefully at my dad who sits with half a roast potato poised by his mouth. He swallows quickly.

    ‘Well, I agree, he is nice enough but I really don’t know if he is Bels’ type.’

My mother jerks her head back and looks as if she is about to have an apoplectic fit.

    ‘What do you mean? Of course he is her type. He is rich, successful and wears fashionable clothes.’

Oh, that sums it up then, my type in three words, rich, successful and fashionable. Bloody hell, I sound shallow.

    ‘Preferably, with a bit of a brain,’ I add.

    ‘And not brash and showy, which he most definitely is,’ throws in my father between potatoes.

    ‘He can afford to be brash. Besides, it is probably a cover for the pain he had to endure by that terrible wife of his. Corinne said she is perfectly beastly and only had her eyes on the…’

    ‘I thought you said he was available,’ I break in, pouring more wine for myself and Dad, feeling we both may well need it if we intend to take on my mother.

    ‘He is divorced, darling. I did tell you. It has been six weeks now, but oh dear she did take him to the cleaners.’

    ‘
Women,
’ exclaims Dad, as he throws a potato to Candice.

I really am not in the mood for men right now, well at least not this one. A vision of Christian leaning over the Lemon enters my head and I quickly push the memory away.

    ‘Why do you need my help with the fund raiser anyway?’ I say miserably, beginning to think that a two-week holiday, or at least a two-week break, from my mother would not be such a bad idea after all.

    ‘I still have so many things to price up and I need you to start the bidding for the dress. It will look really good if you introduce it, you being in the fashion business and everything.’

I sigh heavily.

    ‘As long as I don’t have to say you bought it for the wedding that never was.’

Dad forces a laugh.

    ‘Of course not,’ my mother reassures me, while giving Dad a dirty look. ‘It will be a good opportunity to meet Jack. He is bringing Corinne, his mother. You remember Corinne, she had that stroke a year ago and…’

    ‘I remember,’ I lie, although I couldn’t for the life of me remember anyone who had a stroke and had a son named Jack who was, Oh God, what is he?

    ‘What did you say he did?’ I ask, holding my breath.

    ‘I didn’t dear, but he owns his own company and is very comfortable. He is a scrap metal merchant.’

Bloody hell.

    ‘Wonderful,’ I mumble, grabbing more potatoes. Exactly what I need, a rich fashionable scrap metal merchant named Jack Russell.

Chapter Twenty-Two

    I cannot believe I have agreed to allow my mother to set me up with her friend’s son. I really am not in the least bit interested in men, unless you count Christian, and I unashamedly spent the whole of last night on Google, trying to find as many photos of him as I could. I had hoped I would find out if he was still with Claudine, but all I get are photos of him and photos of his houses. One night, I almost phoned Simon to ask him and just stopped myself in time. It seems that Simon has been seeing something of Kaz although she is being very cagey about it all, and insists they are just friends.

    ‘I’m a shoulder to cry on, you know how it is,’ she had said airily.

That is all very well but shouldn’t her shoulder be for me? It is Saturday morning and I am to meet the very eligible Jack. I let out a deep sigh and wander into the bathroom to get ready. I really should make an effort. After all, I am well aware that Christian is not interested in me. I am not his type. He is probably preparing for his own wedding this very minute. I cannot even check Claudine’s Facebook page anymore as she has made it very private. Twenty minutes later dressed in jeans and one of the blouses I bought from the French supermarket, I set off to the Methodist church hall, where the fund raiser is to be held. I must make every effort to like Jack. The Methodist hall looks quite jolly with the bunting outside
.
Two boys shake their collection boxes and stand like sentinels at the doorway.

    ‘Help raise money for the blind,’ they chorus.

I give them a friendly smile and walk through the entrance door to the hall. I smile at the vicar who looks absently at me.

    ‘Ah, here she is,’ declares my mother, before I can even take a breath.