Strings Attached (21 page)

It landed and George hurried over to it, ducking her head to try and avoid the draft from the rotor blades. The door opened and Quinn appeared.

‘Hop in,’ he urged, holding out his hand to her.

‘Where are we going?’ George yelled over the noise.

‘Up there,’ Quinn said, pointing to the sky.

He pulled her up into the aircraft and, as rapidly as it set down, the helicopter began to rise again. The children pointed and shouted, trying to see who it was, and George desperately looked around for a seat belt.

‘You’ll have to put these on!’ Quinn yelled, passing her a set of 1980s style headphones.

She put them over her ears and moved the mouthpiece to her lips.

‘You’re lucky I’m here on time, I had to walk,’ she informed.

‘Sorry. I had a window of opportunity, I had to take it,’ Quinn replied.

‘I haven’t heard from you for a few days. Is my appeal wearing off?’ George asked as light-heartedly as possible.

‘No, of course not. Roger flew in. He’s been with me twenty four seven, literally. I did try and message you from the bathroom last night but, no signal,’ Quinn said with a smile.

‘So...
’

‘So I’m flying back to the States today. I have to be at the airport in two hours actually,’ Quinn explained.

‘Oh,’ George answered.

‘And that’s where I’ll be until the wedding.’

‘Sure.’

‘And not even I can conjure up a helicopter that can cross the Atlantic in double
-
quick time every time I need to see you,’ Quinn told her.

‘Are you sure?’ George asked with a laugh.

‘Hey, don’t think I haven’t looked into it,’ Quinn said.

George looked at him and he took hold of her hands.

‘God what am I doing?’ he asked, squeezing her hands tightly.

‘Travelling down from the other end of the UK in a helicopter? Yep, I have to admit I thought it was pretty over the top the first time,’ George joked.

‘No, leaving you,’ Quinn responded, looking at George, a weight of emotion in his expression.

‘Quinn, you have to go. You and me, we’re a fantasy. A really good fantasy but a fantasy all the same,’ George told him.

‘Is that what you really feel?’

‘That’s how it is,’ George said hurriedly.

‘Is it?’

‘It can’t be anything else.’

‘What if it could?’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘I don’t know,’ Quinn said, letting out a frustrated sigh.

‘I can’t help you unless you tell me,’ George reminded him.

‘I can’t tell you unless you help me,’ Quinn told her, fixing her with his blue eyes.

‘What d’you want me to do?’ George asked.

‘Stop me getting married,’ Quinn replied.

George looked at him, gathering in everything his face was telling her with its expression. She wanted to say the right thing, but she didn’t even know what that was.

‘I can’t do that. Only you can do that, if it really isn’t what you want,’ she finally spoke.

‘Of course it isn’t what I want! Would you want to be married to her? Would you want to hear about handbags and haute couture and who’s wearing what at the latest celebrity hangout?’ Quinn snapped angrily.

‘She must love you,’ George replied.

‘She loves the brand we are. Did you know, just after the wedding we’re releasing his and hers fragrances called ‘Ever After’?’ Quinn asked.

‘That sounds terrible. What does it smell like?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ Quinn answered, letting go of her hand and putting one hand to his forehead.

‘Why don’t you tell her the truth? Tell her you aren’t ready for marriage. She might surprise you and understand,’ George suggested hopefully.

‘You’ve met her. She wouldn’t understand and Roger, well he certainly wouldn’t understand,’ Quinn told her.

‘Then...
’

‘I guess all I can do is pray for a plague of locusts or a tsunami to wipe out the whole of La Manga,’ Quinn said, putting a hopeful smile on his face.

‘That’s a bit drastic.’

‘Drastic times call for drastic measures.’

George let out a sigh.

‘Are you OK? There’s something on your mind other than table settings isn’t there?’ Quinn queried.

‘No, not really. I’ve just got some stuff going on right now, that’s all,’ George began.

‘What stuff?’ Quinn asked, looking at her with concern.

‘It’s just family stuff, I’m probably going to be tied up for the next few weeks. So maybe space between us is a good thing,’ George suggested.

‘You think?’

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t.’

Quinn smothered her mouth with his, kissing her passionately and holding onto her as the helicopter carried on circling the playing field.

‘I want to help, with this family stuff. What is it?’ Quinn spoke, searching for the answer in her eyes.

George shook her head, unable to find the words.

‘George, come on, tell me,’ Quinn urged.

‘It’s fine - it’s just - my mother’s ill and she needs an operation and
...
’ George began.

She stopped talking to gulp in a breath and it was then she realised she was crying. Her shoulders were shaking with sobs and tears were spilling from her eyes like someone had turned on a fire hydrant.

‘Hey, George, tell me what’s going on here. Let me in,’ Quinn begged as he wrapped her in his embrace and tried to soften her anguish.

George shook her head. She couldn’t tell him, there wasn’t enough time to even get started on everything she needed to say and she wasn’t certain he was the first person who should hear it.

‘I don’t want to leave you like this,’ Quinn said, stroking her hair away from her face and wiping her tears from her cheeks with his thumbs.

‘Go. You have to get your flight. I’m fine,’ George insisted, sniffing the tears away as best she could.

‘I know you’re not.’

‘Go on. Get out of here,’ George ordered, restoring some of her composure.

‘I’ll call you,’ Quinn said as he indicated to the pilot to take the helicopter back down.

‘It doesn’t matter, if you can’t. I mean you’ll be having suit fittings and choosing flowers and stuff and believe me I’ve catered enough weddings to know exactly how long all that takes,’ George said using the sleeve of her top to wipe her face.

‘Don’t,’ Quinn said.

‘It’s going to happen unless you do something about it. I’m submitting the ingredients list at the end of the week,’ George told him.

‘At least the food will be awesome,’ he answered solemnly.

The helicopter landed and Quinn took hold of her hand and placed it on his chest.

‘I am yours George, no matter what you think. I’m yours in here,’ he said, looking at her sincerely.

George swallowed, took his hand and placed it over her heart.

‘I wish you were,’ she replied sadly, taking off the headphones.

She kissed his mouth, touching his cheek with her hand and then she pulled the door of the chopper open and jumped down.

She put her hood over her head and hurried back towards the road, trying to avoid the uneven clumps in the turf. With every step, she tried to forget that every rotation of the helicopter’s blades was taking him further away from her. Right now, she hated herself. She had broken down, she had sobbed over him, about her mother, over everything that had happened in her past. She hadn’t shed a tear since Paul left, until today. She was usually stronger than that and she had to be. It was the only way she survived.

He watched her from the helicopter for as long as he could. She’d been so vulnerable. It had felt like he was holding her heart in his hands and throwing it back at her. He was an idiot. What was he doing? He was making things worse for everyone. He was defying Roger, cheating on Taylor and screwing George up at the same time. But what else could he do? He was f**ked no matter what he did.

Twenty

When she arrived at the front door, Lesley was chewing a marigold and swishing her tail suspiciously. She hated the damn cat. She had always hated it. It moulted, it permanently had fleas and there was the farting, that a specialised diet and liquid indigestion sachets couldn’t cure. It looked up at George as she rang the bell and burped. Now it reminded her of Belch.

The
‘
William Tell Overture’ chimed and it was a minute before her dad answered the door.

‘Hello Georgina, come along in. Your mother’s in the kitchen. I’ve just got to cast a quick eye over the golf. Justin Rose is progressing famously,’ Brian said, disappearing back into the lounge and passing George the lavender room spray.

Right on cue, Lesley lifted her tail and the hallway filled up with putrid smog that threatened to engulf anything in its path. She sprayed the air freshener and made her way into the kitchen.

Heather was stood at the cooker, apron tied around a floral creation from Country Casuals and hair perfectly in place. Somehow though, she looked different. She appeared smaller, thinner, slightly weaker, less of the ogre she had been.

‘Hello Mum,’ George greeted, bracing herself for the usual lacklustre response.

Heather turned around and faced her daughter. At the sight of her expression, George almost crumbled.

Her mother’s eyes were full of tears and she was wringing her hands together, like she didn’t know what to do with them. This was completely out of character. Her mother was always so composed, so in charge and organised. She didn’t do public displays of anything, apart from flower arranging.

‘George, I’m so sorry,’ she blurted out, bursting into tears.

George couldn’t move. She knew she should. She knew she should put her arms around her mother, now in her hour of need. But the emotion wouldn’t come. She was stuck fast to the spot, like someone had super
-
glued her boots to the floor.

‘Do you need any help with dinner?’ George asked.

She knew it was the most inappropriate thing to say, but she didn’t know what else would cut it. What was appropriate at a time like this? Perhaps ‘There, there, that’s OK, I forgive you for making my life a misery’ should have been the words spilling forth, but that was surely hypocritical. She didn’t forgive her, not now when she was sick, not ever.

‘I’ve been too hard on you, I know that now. I should have protected you more. I should have listened to you more. I should have helped you, not abandoned you,’ Heather spoke through her sobs.

She was looking her age now. Was that the cancer? Sucking the cells of youth out of her and replacing them with older, weaker, disease
-
ridden ones? She didn’t resemble a tyrant now, but that’s what she was and always had been. Nothing she could say now could change that.

‘I’m here because Adam asked me to come,’ George said, picking up a sachet of bread sauce from the table.

‘Did he tell you? About the lump?’ Heather wanted to know as she dabbed at her eyes with a piece of kitchen roll.

‘Yes he did. The operation’s soon isn’t it?’

‘Tuesday.’

‘I’m sure everything will be fine. I mean they deal with this sort of thing all the time now don’t they?’ George said, repeating the mantra she had said to Adam over and over since she discovered the diagnosis.

‘Oh yes, they do. Mavis at the Choral Society had a breast removed last year and she kept her hair and everything,’ Heather remarked.

‘I don’t know what you want me to say,’ George said awkwardly.

‘I don’t want you to say anything George; I want you to sit down. I’ll drag your father away from that television and the three of us are going to enjoy a lovely roast dinner, just like we used to,’ Heather told her.

‘With bread sauce?’ George queried, looking at the packet in her hands.

‘I know it’s your favourite,’ Heather said.

‘Then let’s make it from scratch, not use this packet stuff Dad always burns,’ George suggested stiffly.

‘Oh that would be lovely,’ Heather agreed.

‘That was superb love; I love a bit of turkey. I mean, most people say it should just be for Christmas, but I’m in the all year round club,’ Brian spoke after the three of them had eaten dinner.

‘It was chicken Brian,’ Heather stated, sucking in her irritation as best she could.

‘It wasn’t was it? Well, I’ve always loved chicken. Used to buy one of those ready cooked one
s for my lunch sometimes. It stu
nk the office out though, Miriam didn’t like it,’ Brian remarked.

‘Miriam didn’t like mu
ch if I remember rightly. Dogs –
cats
-
pork pies
–
buskers
–
li
fts - stepping on paving slabs...
’ Heather began.