Meet Clara Andrews: A totally vacuous girl with a hangover... (10 page)

‘How’s it going, buddy?’ Oliver stands up and claps Marc on the back.

Feeling the blood drain from my face, I stand up shakily and offer an anxious smile.

‘Hi, Marc. What are you doing up here?’ Covering my mouth with my hand, I try to maintain a confident exterior.

‘What am I doing here? What the hell are you doing here? I booked you into the Travelodge on Oxford Road.’ Marc looks genuinely perplexed. Perplexed and mad.

‘I changed it. There was no way I was staying there.’ Oliver laughs and signals to the barman for more drinks.

Mortifyingly, Gina misreads this as an invite and starts to totter over in a ridiculous zebra print peplum dress. Oh, God. Marc spins around at the distinct sound of clattering heels and tells her to stay put.

‘Have you got a minute, Clara? I need to run something past you.’ Shooting me daggers, Marc marches out to the lobby. Not daring to do anything to else, I roll my eyes at Oliver and run after him.

Marc is pacing up and down the lobby looking extremely agitated. I compose myself for a moment before taking a deep breath and walking over.

‘Marc?’

‘Right, Clara. I really don’t care what goes on with you and yankee doodle over there. As long as you don’t bring domestics into the office, do what the fuck you want.’

‘Really? You’re not mad? I thought I had to stay away from him?’ Trying to play down my excitement, I twirl my clutch bag around my wrist.

‘Well, there isn’t really much I can do about.’ He scratches his beard and folds his arms defensively.

‘Look, I would really appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone I was up here tonight.’

‘Why wouldn’t you want people to know you were at the fashion exhibition?’ I tilt my head to one side confused.

‘The what?’ Marc scowls, before a dawning realisation gradually overcomes his face.

‘Of course! The fashion exhibition! Yes, that’s exactly why I am here.’ He lets out a relieved laugh.

‘Why ever else would you be in a five star hotel two hundred miles from home with Gina Cockburn?’ I roll my eyes and give him a playful punch.

‘Shut it, Andrews.’

As we start making our way back into the bar, Marc put his hand on my shoulder and whispers in my ear.

‘And for future reference, it’s pronounced Co-burn.’

After waving off Marc and a loud, intoxicated Gina, I pick up my champagne flute and turn my attention back to Oliver. He really is the most attractive man I have ever laid eyes on and for someone who has seen every Matthew
Mcconaughey movie ever made, that’s a big deal. Scooching my chair closer to Oliver’s, I squeeze his arm before placing my hand on his knee. He looks down at me in surprise, before wrapping his arm around my shoulders. Now that I have Marc’s blessing, kind of, I don’t really have anything to lose and it feels rather liberating.

‘Refill?’ Oliver asks, as he shakes the now empty bottle of champagne.

‘Umm, I don’t know. What time is the train tomorrow?’ As much fun as I am having, I really don’t fancy a two hour train journey with a hangover.

‘The train is whatever time we want it to be.’ He looks at me, his eyes glinting.

‘Is that so? In that case, yes, I will have a refill.’

Nodding, he reaches for his wallet and looks around for the waiter.

‘You know, we do have a bottle of champagne back in the room.’

I feel a fire burning in the pit of my stomach. We both know what he is really saying.

‘OK, we can go back to the room. I’m kind of tired anyway.’ Trying to act unmoved, I take my bag and push my chair under the table.

Oliver takes my hand and marches me to the lift.

‘I seriously hope not.’

The wait for the lift is agonising. We stand in silence, Oliver running his fingers up and down my spine, tapping his foot in annoyance. I keep looking at the stairs, wondering whether or not to go for it, but eleven floors in six inch heels seems quite a stretch.

Finally, the doors open and an elderly couple crawl out at a snail's pace. Flashing them a small yet polite smile, we dive in and jab the button repeatedly until the doors slam shut. Not daring to look at him, I stare down at my shoes and try desperately to ignore the growing tension in the air.

As soon as we arrive at our floor, I feel super glued to the spot. With legs like lead, I follow Oliver to our room and wait as he unlocks the door. Oh my god, what happens now? Fidgeting with my bag, I watch him walk into the kitchen and throw his jacket onto the chaise longue, before skilfully popping a bottle of Bollinger. Are we seriously going to drink champagne? Kicking off my shoes, I lean on the kitchen island as he pushes a glass towards me, not saying a word.

Locking eyes, I make my way around the kitchen until we are a few feet apart. The smell of his aftershave makes me dizzy with anticipation. I stare into his eyes, willing him to make the next move. As if reading my mind, he reaches down and tucks a stray curl behind my ear before cupping my face with both hands. I can feel his breath on my cheek, causing every hair on the back of neck to stand on end. Closing my eyes, I wrap my arms around his waist and pull him in close. Staggering out of the kitchen and falling down onto the chaise longue, I allow myself to let go. All the tension from the past few weeks comes rising to the surface. All the flirting, the lusting looks, the sexual tension that has been clouding the studio is coming to a head, right here, right now and it couldn’t feel more right.

Unhooking my legs from the mountain of bed sheets and trying to silently roll out of bed, I pick up a hotel dressing gown and slip out of the room. Grabbing a bottle of water from the mini bar, along with some posh crisps, I sit cross legged in front of the floor to ceiling window. Opening the packet as quiet as possible, as to not wake up Oliver, I watch the busy streets below, lit up by a bright full moon. I wish I could freeze this moment, feeling this happy, content and blissful is a rare thing for me and I never want it to go away.

Pressing my face up against the cold glass, I glance over at the clock. Why on earth am I awake? You would think after all of tonight’s excitement I would sleep like a baby. I’m guessing the adrenaline is acting like a double espresso shot, not wanting me to miss the feelings of euphoria that are running through my veins.

‘Can’t sleep?’

I look up to see Oliver leaning against the door frame.

‘I’ll be back in a minute. I was just a little thirsty.’

‘Thirsty and hungry?’ He gestures to the half eaten bag of pesto and mozzarella crisps.

‘A little.’ I smile and hold out the bag.

‘Fancy some room service?’ He walks over and takes the bag before joining me on the floor.

‘Room service? It’s nearly getting light outside!’

‘Just in time for breakfast then.’ Reaching over for the menu, he pulls me over so that my feet are lay in his lap.

‘I’m thinking, full English breakfast with all the trimmings. What do you say?’

I know it is not exactly ladylike, but I am absolutely starving.

‘I say go for it.’

Oliver kisses me on the forehead and pushes himself up to go and find the phone. Watching him phoning through our order, I can’t quite believe my luck. I mean, I don’t want to jump the gun or anything, but I really think we could make something of this. His American flag tattoo reminds that he will be going back to the States soon and I might never see him again. Pushing the sickening thought to one side, I pull the dressing gown tight around me and lean against the glass.

‘All done.’ Oliver comes back over to the window and helps me to my feet.  Leading me to the sofa, he grabs the throw and drapes it over his shoulders.

‘England is colder than I remember.’ Shivering he wraps his arm around my shoulders and gives them a little squeeze.

‘What is the weather like back home this time of year?’ Just mentioning ‘back home’ to him gives me a shiver of sadness.

‘Oh, it’s nice! Plenty of sunshine, maybe the odd shower. Not like this though. England knows it’s not winter yet, right?’ He laughs and entwines my hand with his.

‘So, when do you think you will be going back?’

‘I haven’t really thought about it. When my contract with Suave expires, I guess. How come you ask?’

‘I was just wondering, that’s all.’ Sighing, I pull the throw up to my chin and scratch my nose.

‘Hey, what is it?’ Oliver tugs the throw down and turns to face me.

‘It’s nothing, really.’

‘I really like you Clara, so I’m going to lay my cards firmly on the table. I’m thirty four, almost thirty five. I’m done with the whole dating scene. I want kids, a wife, and a family to call my own. Before I came over here, I ended a year long relationship because she didn’t want to settle down. I know we haven’t known each other for long, but I’m not up for playing games.’

I stare at him, dumfounded. I must be dreaming, I have to be. Men don’t want things like this! Men want one night stands and trips to Amsterdam with good for nothing friends. Pinching myself, I wince at the sting. Definitely not dreaming.

‘Clara?’ He gently turns my head to look me in the eyes.

‘I don’t want to put you under any pressure. I’m just saying it how it is. I haven’t got time for two bit relationships. I want something real.’

‘Room service?’ We are interrupted by a knock at the door.

We stare at each other for a moment longer, before Oliver gets up and takes some notes out of his wallet and opens the door.

Oh my God, what just happened? What do I say? Do I want those things someday? Yes! Who wouldn’t? Do I want them with a hot, American, rich, designer? Maybe! Do I want them with a guy I have known for a matter of weeks? I don’t know? Wouldn’t that be insane? Trying to not explode with happiness, I hug my knees and bite the inside of my cheek. I hear Oliver thanking the porter and wheeling in a trolley full of silver cloches and yet another of bottle of champagne.

‘Champagne, seriously?’ I can’t help but laugh as he shrugs his shoulders and unloads the trolley onto the table.

The sun is starting to come up and the sky is streaked with beautiful shades of navy, orange and the odd slice of yellow.

‘Wow! Look at the sunrise.’

We both look out of the window and watch the city spring to life. Light floods the streets, informing the entire population that it is morning. It must be bright for all two minutes before grey clouds swoop over and fill the sky with darkness. Bloody English weather!

Taking a seat at the table and helping Oliver dish out the plates of fried loveliness, I can’t help but picture a huge rock on my finger and a chocolate box house behind a white picket fence. A couple of kids are running around with adorable American accents, maybe even a dog or two! Smiling, I pick up my fork and jab a golden hash brown. They don’t call it the American Dream for nothing...

Throwing my cosmetic case into my suitcase and tugging the zip closed, I take one last look around the room. My humble abode back down south feels a million light years away from The Valentina and I’m not overly excited about being reunited with it.  We haven’t really spoken since Oliver’s earlier outburst, apart from to rave about the impeccable room service, but there hasn’t been a moment that I haven’t thought about it. I don’t really know how to broach the subject and even when I do, what do I say?

I have never met a man like Oliver before. A man so sure of himself and of what he wants and needs. Of all the men I have been involved with, I have never had one that wants to grow up and be a man, a proper man. I know that Oliver isn’t saying let’s run away to a little white chapel and make a load of babies right away, but he is saying don’t waste my time if I’m not looking for those things in a relationship. The question is am I looking?

Dragging my case into the living room and standing it next to Oliver’s holdall, I take a hair tie from around my wrist and twist my wild locks into a loose ballerina bun at the nape of my neck. Oliver has gone down to reception to settle the bill and check us out. I insisted on paying half, but he wouldn’t have any of it. Thank God.

After giving the apartment a thorough once over to make sure we haven’t forgotten anything, I rack my brains over what to tell Oliver. With him pouring his heart out to me, the least I can do is let him know how I feel. The thing is, I really do like him, more than I have liked anyone for that matter. I know I have been dating George, but after this weekend, I feel a connection with Oliver that I don’t want to let go of. I keep reminding myself that I have only known him a few short weeks and not to get carried away with lust and infatuation.

‘You ready, Clara?’ I’m snapped back to reality by Oliver throwing his bag over his shoulder and grabbing my suitcase.

‘Yes. I am definitely ready.’

And I mean that in more ways than one.

The train journey back home is nowhere near as eventful as the trip up here, but curled up next to Oliver, both reading books bought from the WH Smith in the train station, I couldn’t feel more at ease.  I have always looked at smug, happy couples and had the urge to vomit, being on the other side of the fence however, it’s really quite lovely.

I take a peek at my watch and finger the edge of my book nervously. Just over forty minutes to go. Just over forty minutes to tell Oliver that I do want to the same things that he wants. We are at the far end of the first class carriage, with only an elderly couple who are quietly snoring for company. It’s now or never.

‘Um, Oliver?’

He folds down the page, before closing his book and raises an eyebrow.

‘Yeah?’

‘You know what you said to me last night, about wanting a proper relationship?’ I feel my voice wobble and tell myself to toughen up. How can I have a proper relationship when I can’t even say the words without turning into a teenage girl?

Nodding, he puts the book into his holdall and suddenly looks rather serious.

‘Could you not look at me when I say this?’

‘Sure.’ He laughs and looks out of the window.

‘Well, I like you. I like you a lot. I just wanted to put that on the table.’

‘Tell me something I don’t know.’ He turns back to me and winks. ‘I’m not asking you to marry me, Clara. I’m just saying, I don’t want to waste my time playing stupid school yard games.’

‘Well it’s a good job we aren’t in school then, isn’t it?’ I reach over and pull him in for a kiss, ignoring the disapproving comments from the now awake elderly woman behind us.

The taxi driver opens the boot of the cab and drops in my suitcase as if it is made of air. Fastening my seatbelt, I wipe the condensation off the window to reveal Oliver waving me off. I blow him a quick kiss and give my destination to the driver. Pulling out of the taxi rank and rumbling down the street, I look back at Oliver, climbing into a black cab. He looks up and waves, before slamming the door shut. Being back home makes it feel like this weekend never happened. You know like when you come back from holiday and the second your feet touch home soil it’s like you never left?

My phone bleeps and I wiggle it out of the back pocket of my skinny jeans. Oh no, it’s George. I hesitate for a minute before I open the message.

Hey Clara. Hope you had fun in Manchester? Can’t wait to see you on Friday xxx

My fingers hover above the keyboard, trying to find a suitable response. I really need to break things off with George. Now that I have taken things to the next level with Oliver, it seems the right thing to do. I decide it best to wait until Friday and tell him face to face that I can’t see him anymore. I know we weren’t exactly exclusive or anything, but breaking things off via text message does seem a little callous. I am about to put my phone away when another message flashes up on the screen.

I had an amazing time with you. I hear rumours of a fashion exhibition in Paris next weekend if you don’t already have plans...

Oh mon Dieu.