Going La La (39 page)

Busy filling in baggage tags, he was paying no attention to her. He was always like this at airports, always intent on taking control. She watched as he painstakingly attached them with their elastic fasteners to her suitcases, which were fraying at the edges from years of going on package holidays. A stark contrast to his expensive matching set of ergonomically shaped luggage on wheels from Samsonite.

‘Next please.’ The British Airways attendant behind the desk waved them forward.

‘Blimey, that’s us,’ hissed Hugh, dropping his biro as he rushed to manoeuvre their trolley forwards. Always competitive, he raced towards the desk as if he was crossing the finishing line.

Frankie wasn’t in such a hurry. In fact she felt rooted to the spot.

‘How many pieces of luggage?’

‘Six, I’m afraid. My fiancée doesn’t like to travel light.’ Hugh gave a false laugh in an attempt to charm the stewardess into letting them off a charge for excess baggage, and maybe even upgrading them into business. ‘Do you, darling?’ He put his arm round her waist, but it felt awkward and stiff. A Public Display of Affection for the benefit of the uniform behind the counter.

Frankie didn’t answer. She couldn’t say anything, but inside she was being deafened by a voice yelling, ‘Stop, I’ve made a mistake.’ Because she had. She’d made one hell of a mistake. Hugh might not have changed but she had. She was a different person from the girl who’d propped up the bar at Heathrow, knocking back vodkas in an attempt to block out the pain, and who’d arrived in LA nursing a hangover and a broken heart.

And by finally admitting it to herself, she knew there was no way she could go back to her life with Hugh. Their relationship was past its sell-by date. Hugh had asked her to marry him, but never once had he told her he loved her. And she hadn’t told him. Because she wasn’t in love with Hugh any more. Her heart started beating like a jackhammer as she finally admitted it.
She was in love with Reilly
.

‘Would you prefer a window seat or an aisle?’

‘Neither.’

‘What?’ The stewardess and Hugh spoke in unison.

‘I’m not going with you.’ Her pulse was racing so fast she could hardly get the words out. But as she did she felt a huge wave of release. There was no doubt in her mind that she was doing the right thing. In fact, for the first time in weeks she felt sure. She loved Reilly. OK, so she’d probably blown it for ever, but maybe, just maybe, there was a chance, and if she didn’t try she’d never know. Rita was right. She had to follow her heart. It wasn’t a gamble. She’d got nothing to lose.

She looked at Hugh. For the first time ever he seemed flustered.

‘Have you forgotten something? If you’ve left something behind we can always ship it over,’ he jabbered, his voice rising higher. He pulled at his collar, which was beginning to feel tight and uncomfortable.

Frankie shook her head. ‘I haven’t forgotten anything.’ She was unshakeable. Now she’d started she couldn’t stop. ‘It’s not the same between us any more, Hugh. When you finished the relationship I was devastated, I never thought I was going to get over it. You broke my heart, you know . . .’ She looked at him for a moment. Suddenly she felt rather sorry for him. ‘I suppose a lot of it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have said yes when you asked me to marry you. But when you turned up in Vegas, all those old feelings came flooding back. Except now I know that’s exactly what they are. Old feelings.’ She swallowed and took a deep breath. ‘I’m not in love with you any more.’

It was a slap in the face. Hugh looked incredulous. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

‘Look, I know it’s going to take a bit of time to get used to each other again,’ he said, clearing his throat self-consciously. ‘And if you’re trying to tell me you’ve slept with someone else that’s fine. Obviously I don’t want to know the details, but I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t admit to a couple of liaisons.’ He blushed. ‘I mean, I haven’t exactly been celibate these past few months either.’

Despite his confession, Frankie remained steadfast. ‘It’s got nothing to do with me sleeping with someone else.’

‘
You mean you have?
’ He was aghast.

Becoming impatient, passengers were beginning to stare, craning their necks to see what was holding them up at the front of the queue. Feeling their eyes upon him, Hugh began to shuffle uncomfortably. He didn’t like being the centre of attention, unless he was on the golf course. What were all the bloody Americans staring at? What did they think he was? An animal in a zoo?

Clearing his throat again, he ran his fingers through his hair exasperatedly and, leaning closer, hissed, ‘Look, is this some kind of way of paying me back? I know you were upset about us breaking up on your birthday, but I’ve said I’m sorry.’ He glared at a woman eating popcorn who was straying over the painted line so that she could hear better and relay information back along the line to the other passengers.

‘I’m not trying to pay you back.’

‘If you want me to grovel, I’m not going to.’ Irritated by his unwelcome audience, Hugh threw the crowd his filthiest look. At this rate he might as well start selling tickets.

But they ignored him and continued watching. This was better than the movies.

‘I don’t want you to.’ Frankie sighed and, wriggling her finger, she took off the ring and held it out to him. ‘I’m sorry, Hugh.’

The buzz of anticipation quietened as the passengers strained to hear the cliffhanger. As did the stewardesses, who’d been watching the scenario unfold with bated breath.

In disbelief, Hugh stared at the ring. ‘What are you saying?’

She couldn’t resist using his line. ‘I’m saying it’s over.’

There was the sound of a few handclaps as, gathering together her luggage, Frankie turned and left Hugh stunned at the check-in. She knew he wouldn’t follow her, his pride wouldn’t let him. And she was glad. She didn’t want him to. Feeling as if a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders, she dragged her luggage through the crowds of passengers, who stared at her as if she was some kind of minor celebrity, across the airport towards the sliding doors. God knows what happened now. What she was going to do in LA with no money or job. She hadn’t thought that far ahead. But one thing was certain – this time she’d made the right decision.

She didn’t stop walking until she was outside. Until the handles of her suitcases were cutting into her fingers and, unable to carry them any further, she had to drop them on the pavement. Taking a deep breath of hot, dusty, polluted Californian air, she leaned wearily against the wall, idly watching the stream of cars dropping off at departures, coming and going.

Wasn’t this the part in the movie when the guy the heroine’s in love with turns up out of the blue and tells her he loves her? She smiled to herself glumly. This might be LA, but she was under no illusion. Her earlier optimism was just wishful thinking. She’d blown it with Reilly. Well and truly fucked up. He was never going to forgive her, and who could blame him? She’d left him standing at the altar on New Year’s Eve.

Crouching down on the floor, she fumbled in her bag and pulled out a crumpled packet of cigarettes. Rita had given them to her ‘in case of emergencies’. She smiled to herself. She should really call Rita, but she couldn’t face it just yet. She needed a few minutes by herself, to try and get her head straight. She’d phone her after she’d had this cigarette. Now, if she could just find a light . . . Bloody typical, she had everything but matches – Tampax, chewing gum, a couple of leaky biros.

Her fingers brushed against her wallet and underneath, half hidden, she saw Reilly’s ring. She’d been going to throw it away but something had stopped her – sentimentality, stupidness, hope . . . call it what you want but she hadn’t been able to. She slipped it on her finger. She was being stupid. She and Reilly were over, and the sooner she accepted that and got on with the rest of her life the better. She sniffed. Now where were those bloody matches?

‘Do you need a light?’

Hearing a voice behind her, she looked up.

Reilly.

For a moment she didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. She’d rehearsed what to say if she ever saw him again, she’d got it all worked out. But now, staring at him as he stood in front of her, wearing his knackered old jeans and a scruffy T-shirt he refused to throw away, unshaven, with his hair all over the place and those bloody big blue eyes she could drown in, her prepared speech went out the window.

‘What are you doing here?’

He held her gaze, his face breaking into a long, lazy smile. ‘Did you really think I was going to let a pain-in-the-ass English chick get away that easily?’

It wasn’t exactly the romantic answer she’d been hoping for. ‘Are you saying I’m a pain in the arse?’

‘Well, you did jilt me.’

‘I wouldn’t call it that exactly . . .’

She broke off as Reilly pulled her towards him. ‘Shut up, Frankie.’

And before she could argue, he leaned down and kissed her.

Who said it only ever happened in the movies?

ALEXANDRA POTTER

You’re the One That I Don’t Want

How do you know he’s The One?

Are you getting butterflies just thinking about him?

Have you dreamt of marrying him?

Do you just know?

When Lucy meets Nate in Venice, aged 18, she knows instantly he’s The One. And, caught up in the whirlwind of first love, they kiss under the Bridge of Sighs at sunset. Which – according to legend – will tie them together forever.

But ten years later, they’ve completely lost contact. That is, until Lucy moves to New York and the legend brings them back together. Again. And again. And again.

But what if Nate isn’t The One? How is she going to get rid of him? Because forever could be a very long time . . .

A funny, magical romantic comedy about how finding The One doesn’t always have to mean happily ever after.

ALEXANDRA POTTER

What’s New, Pussycat?

What would you do if your boyfriend proposed?

– Say yes and throw your arms around him

– Text everyone with your good news

– Take out a subscription to Brides magazine

Delilah does none of the above. Instead she packs her bags and heads to London in search of a new life, and a new man. Only she meets two. Charlie, the sexy media mogul and Sam, best friend and confidante.

Everything seems perfect. Thrown into a whirlwind of glamorous parties, five-star restaurants and designer penthouses, Delilah couldn’t be happier. After all, it’s a million miles away from her old life. And her old self. Which is exactly what she wanted.

Isn’t it?

ALEXANDRA POTTER

Me and Mr Darcy