Читать книгу Personally, I Blame my Fairy Godmother - Claudia Carroll - Страница 15

There is a completely rational explanation! I ring snotty Margaret at the office who tells me that Sam is in London on business and will be back tomorrow! A wash of near-euphoria comes over me. Of course, Sam wasn’t ignoring me, he’s out of the country, that’s all and when he gets home everything will be back to normal. Well apart from my being broke and unemployed that is. But like I say, once he’s back in my life, everything else will seem bearable again. I conveniently brush aside the fact that every other time he’s away, he never fails to call day and night. He was probably just stressed up to the ceiling about all his meetings in London, that’s all. I actually have a spring in my step for the first time in days, which lasts all the way up until 11 a.m., when the phone rings. It’s the letting agency who found this house for me. ‘Bad news,’ says the property management guy, who sounds about fifteen. ‘You’re now almost four months behind in rent which means you’re in breach of the lease agreement. The owners have instructed me to request that you vacate the premises and return the keys ASAP. Otherwise, they’ll be left with no choice but to instigate legal proceedings.’

For a second, I think I’m going to black out as I slump against the stairs, with my back to the wall. It’s official; I’m on the express train to hell.

‘Listen to me, Jessie,’ says Teen Boy kindly. ‘This could be an awful lot worse. I know these people and trust me; all they want is you out of the house by the end of the week. Fair’s fair, you do owe them well in excess of €12,000 in back rent.’

‘€12,000?’ is all I can think, fresh beads of panicky sweat forming in the small of my back. How in the name of Jaysus did I let that happen?

‘Go quickly and quietly,’ he says, ‘and I’m pretty certain that they’ll leave it at that. Going to court will cost time and money and the owners already have interest from people who want to come over and view the place.’

By now I’m actually drenched in sweat. Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, I’m made homeless. I thank the poor guy as politely as I’m able to; after all, none of this is his fault and like he says, go quietly and I won’t get sued. But go where?

Now the tone of all my messages to Sam has completely changed from angry to pleading. I urgently need to talk to you, I almost beg. Something calamitous has happened. Ring me and I’ll explain. Then, a brainwave; he always stays at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel when he’s in London; vintage Sam, only the best will do. So I call them and ask to be put through to his room. The over-polite receptionist asks me for my name first, checks the room, then comes back to me and says Mr Hughes isn’t there. Trying my best not to sound like some kind of psycho stalker, I explain that I’m his girlfriend and would she pretty please with knobs on have any idea when he’ll be back?

The blind panic in my voice seems to do the trick.

‘Well, I normally wouldn’t dream of giving out personal information, but seeing as you are his girlfriend…OK then. He should be back in the room in about an hour or so. He’s down in the spa at the moment having a sports massage.’

So he’s not up to his eyes in meetings, too busy to return my calls. He’s lying naked, wrapped in a hot towel having aromatherapy oil rubbed into him. I spend the rest of the day trying to pack, then collapsing into floods of heaving tears. Ask not for whom the bell tolls. It’s the ambulance coming to take me away.