Читать книгу The Perfect Escape: Romantic short stories to relax with - Anna-Lou Weatherley, Julia Williams - Страница 4

‘So, you’re going ahead with it then?’ Mel Andrews asked, as she watched Claire Corrigan flicking through bridal magazines.

‘Ahead with what?’ Claire looked up from the page she was perusing.

‘The wedding, you dope!’

Claire looked at the exquisite diamond ring, now adorning her fourth finger, and then out at the splendid view of London, that Barry’s fantastically airy loft apartment provided.

‘Of course I am,’ she said. ‘Don’t you start.’

‘But you can’t marry Barry,’ said Mel. ‘As your best mate, I have to be sure that you’re doing the right thing.’

Claire looped back her auburn curls over her shoulder.

‘Yes, Mel, I am. Barry and I love each other. What exactly is your problem with that?’

‘What about Steve?’

Steve. Ah, the if-onlys that were contained in that name.

‘What about him?’ Claire shifted slightly uncomfortably in her seat.

‘I seem to recall a time when you used to say you couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.’

‘Yes, well, I was wrong, wasn’t I?’ Claire got up, and looked out of the window. The late summer sun was setting across the river, and in the distance its light reflected in the London Eye, performing its stately dance around the sights of London.

She didn’t like thinking about Steve very much. Too dangerous. It was all too easy to conjure up a vision of him in his leathers, or riding his bike, oozing animal magnetism. There had been something earthy and primitive about Steve, and even now, after all this time, she went hot all over at the thought of him.

‘Steve couldn’t have given me all of this,’ she said waving her arms around at the luxurious apartment. ‘He hardly earned a bean.’

‘Money isn’t everything,’ said Mel.

‘You’re right,’ said Claire, ‘money isn’t everything. But that’s not why I’m marrying Barry. He’s prepared to commit to me, Steve never was. It’s that simple. I wanted the fairy tale wedding and happy ever after, and all Steve could promise me was this year, next year, sometime, never. It would never have worked.’

‘Whereas Barry …’ said Mel.

‘… Is everything I’ve ever dreamed of. He’s sexy, handsome, funny. And he’s solid and reliable. He can give me security and commitment. Two little words that Steve just can’t.’ And yet, said a treacherous little voice in her head, now you’ve got it, is it all it’s cracked up to be? She’d traded her leathers and DMs for Katharine Hamnett and Manolo Blahniks, but sometimes, she wistfully longed for the days when Steve would just pitch up out of the blue, and she’d hop on the back of his bike and they’d ride off, anywhere, just for the sheer joy of it. She had security now, for sure. But joy? Barry wasn’t good at joy.

‘Well if you’re sure …’ said Mel .

‘I’m sure,’ said Claire, as much to convince herself as Mel. ‘Barry’s good for me. We’re good together.’

‘So it’s not a rebound job then?’

It was true that Barry had followed hot on the heels of Steve. In fact, when Claire gave it any thought – which she studiously avoided doing most of the time – they had got together indecently quickly after she had finished with Steve.

But, she had been so furious with Steve by the end. He just hadn’t understood why she wanted to move to London and find a job in PR, when she could have stayed in Bolton watching him take a series of dead-end jobs.

‘It’s because I want to make something of my life,’ she had argued with him. ‘I don’t want to fester here forever.’

‘You mean you want to join the rat race,’ Steve had said. ‘At least if I don’t

tie myself to a job, I can be free to take off whenever I want.’

‘And how long can you go on doing that?’ Claire had demanded. ‘One day, you’re going to have to grow up.’

In the end, she had come to London anyway, and for a while they had limped along, with her going home or him coming to see her. But they had both known it was going nowhere. The final straw had been Steve driving down from Bolton on his motorbike and offering to take her on a cheap round the world trip. He had seriously expected her to get on the back of his deathtrap and follow him. Never mind the great job she had just landed, or the new flat she had just found herself. No, she was just supposed to up sticks and go with the flow.

So she had said no, and they had parted angrily. And apart from a couple of tortuous phone conversations, they hadn’t spoken since. Stubborn pride had prevented her contacting him again. That, and meeting Barry.

Three weeks after she split up with Steve, she bumped into Barry in the lift in the smart new offices on the edge of the City, where she’d just started temping as a PR assistant. The company Barry and Mel worked for was on the fifth floor, one floor above her office. Perhaps it was the fact that he was so different to Steve that first attracted her to him. But she couldn’t help admiring his clean-cut looks, his Armani suits, and hint of regular guyness. And because he was Mel’s new boss, she found herself running into him rather a lot.

At first it seemed accidental, the way she always seemed to meet him in the lift. Then it started to seem rather too coincidental. Till the day that they had found themselves in the lift alone. And the lift had broken down on the third floor. For a few moments they had tried to pretend they were ignoring each other, then it was as if a floodgate had opened, and they were all over each other like a rash. As Claire told Mel afterwards, it was the most passionate non-sex she had ever had. And from then it was just a short step to living together and getting engaged. Steve was history. And Claire told herself she had moved on.

‘No, I’m not just doing it on the rebound,’ she said firmly. ‘I love Barry, he loves me. End of story. Now which dress do you think it the nicest – the Donna Karan or the Katharine Hamnett?’

*

‘This is a bit posh for us, love,’ said Claire’s mum in awed tones, as Claire ushered them into her new home. Her parents didn’t like coming to London, and Claire’s romance had been so whirlwind, this was the first time they’d either met Barry or been to the flat. They’d come down for a pre-wedding get-together, but now they were here they looked out of place. Claire hoped they’d love Barry the way she did, but they seemed so startled by the open-plan design, and the huge glass frontage that overlooked the Thames; she wondered if it had been wise to meet here. So different from their dingy little terrace in Bolton.

‘Don’t you like it?’ said Claire, but her heart was sinking. Her parents looked so out of place here. They seemed to physically shrink as they walked through the door. And part of Claire was ashamed to admit it, but she almost wished they hadn’t come.

‘Well, I suppose it’s all right for you London folk,’ said her father in a disapproving manner, ‘but it’s a bit too fancy for the likes of us.’

Claire sighed. This wasn’t going to be easy. Claire had worked hard to divorce her London life from her home life – the two were so different – but her parents had, not unnaturally, insisted on meeting Barry before the wedding. She’d have been cowardly happy to do the introductions on the day, even though she knew she was being unfair. So they were all booked into a posh new restaurant that had opened up by London Bridge. She had a feeling it was going to be a disaster.

‘Here, let me show you to your room,’ she said, and took them through to the far side of the enormous lounge, where a cunningly hidden atrium gave way to a spiral staircase which led to the next floor.

‘I thought you said you lived in a flat,’ said her mother. ‘You could fit three of our house in here.’

‘Well it’s a big flat,’ said Claire. ‘But we like it. We’d better get on. Our table’s booked for seven.’

*

A couple of hours later, Claire made her way into the plush surroundings of the Chimera Restaurant. She had just about got used to dining in these sorts of places now, but even she thought it was pretentious beyond belief. The entrance hall was adorned with a huge picture of a monster with a lion’s head – the owners of the restaurant were apparently artists, and fancied themselves mythologists, so the place was decorated with naked nymphs being chased by Dionysus and the like. A lot of the pictures were rather rude, and Claire could see her mother was shocked.

The waiter showed them to their table, where Barry’s parents, Moira and Stuart, were waiting to greet them. There was no sign of Barry. Damn, he had said he had a meeting, but promised Claire he wouldn’t be late. Claire rang his mobile, but it was switched off, so she sent him a text, and hoped he’d get there soon.

Greetings exchanged, everyone sat down to an awkward silence. Claire never knew what to say to her prospective in-laws at the best of times, but here without Barry, she felt completely stuck. Particularly as Dad humiliated her by asking for a pint of bitter, and Mum a glass of sherry, just like they were at home in the British Legion Club.

When offered lager as an alternative, Dad looked as if it were poison, and in the end settled for a glass of red wine. Mum plumped for the Chardonnay Moira was having.

‘Very Bridget Jones,’ Moira said smiling gaily.

‘Bridget who?’ asked Mum, puzzled, and Claire groaned inwardly at another demonstration of her parents’ lack of sophistication. She was about to text Barry again, when he bowled rather drunkenly across the long and echoing restaurant floor.

‘Sorry I’m late, everyone, unavoidably detained,’ he swayed over and kissed Claire full on the mouth. She could smell the alcohol on his breath, but couldn’t help the prickles of desire that made her want to kiss him back – hard. But they were coupled with, well, embarrassment. Her parents didn’t go in much for physical demonstrations of affection, and her mother was doing little to hide her disgust.

The evening was an utter failure. Dad refused to try any of the food – ‘foreign muck’ he called it, though most of it was English, while Mum was scandalised that they could charge so much for a basic meal like sausage and mash. Moira, meanwhile (whom Claire suspected was really nouveau riche; she seemed to try so hard to show off her superior social skills) was throwing into the conversation tidbits about visiting the Tate Modern and going to the Globe, which left Claire’s parents completely cold.

It was with huge relief that the meal finally ended, and they were all able to pile into a cab to get home. But even there, the torture wasn’t over. Barry cuddled up to Claire, and insisted on stroking her leg, which would have been nice at any other time, but was excruciating when she was squashed up next to her dad. Barry was also extremely drunk by now, and kept repeating over and over, ‘You know I’m a lucky man, Norman, Jean. Your daughter ish beautiful lady, my beautiful lady.’

‘You won’t be saying that when we’re married,’ Claire tried to make a joke of it.

‘Course I will, come on gissa kiss.’ Claire managed to dive out of his way, and he ended up with his face in her lap. A sensation that she wouldn’t have found unpleasant at any other time, but at this precise moment, was utterly mortifying.

‘Ah, here we are,’ she said with a false smile, and the taxi drew up outside their apartments. She and Dad had to virtually manhandle Barry up the stairs. By this time he had started to sing rather rude songs, and Claire was sweating as she finally got to the front door of the apartment.

‘Shh,’ she said to him, as he started up again about various parts of her anatomy.

‘Why?’ he said. ‘I jush want the world to know that you’re beautiful. All of you’s beautiful, and you’re the best shag I’ve ever had.’

‘Barry!’ Claire could have died. ‘Bed right now!’

‘What have I done wrong?’ Barry looked like a hurt little boy, and part of her wanted to burst out laughing, but the other part of her was furious. How could he show her up like this?

She pushed and cajoled him into their room, while her parents watched in silent horror.

Having got him on the bed, she made a quick exit. She knew from experience, he would be asleep by the time she got back. And she also knew her parents were waiting to read her the riot act.

‘Would you like a coffee?’ she asked, hoping to avoid the issue. No such luck.

‘Claire, sit down,’ said Dad. ‘Your mum and I want to talk to you.’

‘About …?’ Claire had a feeling she knew where this was heading.

‘Barry,’ said Mum firmly. ‘Are you sure he’s right for you?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Claire defiantly, although actually thinking, at this moment after he’s embarrassed me so spectacularly, no, I can’t say I do.

‘But love,’ pleaded Dad, ‘think about it. Look at this place – this just isn’t us. And to be honest, it doesn’t really seem like you. And your Barry, well he might be a nice enough lad the rest of the time, but I’m not too impressed by what I’ve seen tonight.’

‘Tonight he’d had a bit too much to drink,’ said Claire. ‘But I love him, really I do. And he loves me. I’m sorry you haven’t seen the best of him tonight, but I am going to marry him. I just want you to be happy for me.’

Claire’s parents looked at each other and sighed.

‘Well, we only want the best for you, love,’ said Dad. ‘But if that’s what you want …’

‘It’s what I want,’ said Claire. ‘Now I’ve got an early start tomorrow, so I’d better get to bed.’

*

‘What is it with people trying to interfere in my life?’ Claire moaned at Mel the next day. ‘First it’s you telling me not to marry Barry, and now it’s my parents asking me if I’m sure I’m doing the right thing. I’ve a good mind to run away to Gretna Green and do it behind everyone’s back.’

‘Oh come on,’ said Mel . ‘They only want what’s best for you. And by all accounts it didn’t sound like he behaved himself all that well.’

‘No he didn’t, but Jeez – I wish everyone would get off our backs. We’re getting married and that’s that.’

But she had to admit, she was beginning to have slight doubts herself now. Barry had behaved badly the previous evening, and though he had been attempting to make up all morning, sending her flirty text messages and emails as well as the biggest bunch of flowers she had ever seen, she did feel uneasy. Maybe she was making a mistake. Would Steve have embarrassed her like that in front of her parents? She didn’t think so. Steve would have instinctively known how to act around them, while it never occurred to Barry that they might be shocked by his behaviour. But then, as her dad would say, Steve was one of us …

‘Let me take you away from all of this.’ Barry appeared at her desk, straight from ‘some damned boring accountant’s meeting, during which you were all I could think of’ at lunchtime, looking at once apologetic, and damnably gorgeous. It was very hard to stay cross with him for long. Claire sometimes wondered about Barry’s job – he was in financial advice, so he said, but he seemed to get an awful lot of money for doing not a great deal, as far as she could tell. He often took her out for lunch, usually when she didn’t have time. But Barry was very hard to resist.

‘I don’t know that you deserve me,’ said Claire, determined to keep up a little bit of pressure.

‘Probably not,’ said Barry. ‘But I do love you.’

‘If you say so,’ said Claire, picking up her bag. It really was impossible to deny him. ‘Where do you want to take me, then?’

‘Where?’ said Barry, taking her arm and steering her towards the door. ‘More like how.’

‘Don’t start all that again,’ said Claire, as they entered the lift. ‘Look how much trouble it got you into last time.’

The lift was empty, apart from the two of them, and they looked at each other and laughed.

‘There’s something about an enclosed space …’ said Barry, and pulled her close towards him.

‘Isn’t there just?’ said Claire and responded to his kiss with passion.

Lifts and

Barry would forever be associated in her mind with sex, or at least foreplay. By the time they got to the ground floor she was quite giddy with desire.

‘Are we going to bother with lunch or what?’ she asked.

‘What do you think?’ said Barry with a grin. ‘I take it your parents have already gone?’

‘Yes, they got the first train back this morning,’ said Claire. ‘They could only cope with one night in the great metropolis.’

‘Then what are we waiting for?’ Barry pulled her out of the door, and nearly fell into the road, waving his arms like a maniac, ‘Taxi!’

‘I think,’ he said, ‘it’s time to carry on where we left off last night.’

‘Good idea,’ said Claire, sinking into his arms.

*

A week later, Claire came humming into work. Her sex life had been great for the past week. She had been getting a little worried recently that Barry hadn’t been quite as attentive to her needs as when they first met. But this past week had put paid to that notion. Which was just as well, as he had to go off on a course for a couple of days. She felt slightly better about it, knowing that Mel was going too, and had promised to look after him.

‘Any messages for me, Kerry?’ Claire asked their lank and morose receptionist, who was possibly the least welcoming person in the universe.

‘Yeah, there was one. He rang last night, after you’d gone.’

‘Who rang?’ It was always rather difficult extracting information out of Kerry.

‘Said his name was Steve. He said you’d know who he meant.’

Steve. Steve. Claire couldn’t help the traitorous little leap her heart gave at the mention of his name.

‘Did he say what he wanted?’ Claire tried to keep her voice casual.

‘Nah. Just said he’d catch up with you tomorrow.’

‘Did he leave a number?’ Claire had deliberately deleted his mobile number from her phone when she had started to see Barry. And now she had a new phone, so Steve couldn’t ring that. For all she knew he might still be at the same address, but knowing Steve, he was likely to have moved on again.

‘Nah. Just said he’d be here by lunchtime.’

‘Wha-a-at????’ Claire’s knees went weak and trembly. She had to hold onto the pillar beside Kerry’s desk. ‘He’s coming here? When? How?’ she croaked.

‘That’s what the man said,’ said Kerry looking up for a moment from the all-important task of filing her nails. ‘And lunchtime, is lunchtime. So I dunno, I expect he’ll be here after 12.’

Claire went upstairs to her office, and sank down at her desk, in a total state of shock. Steve coming here? What on earth was she going to say to him?

Claire spent a nervous morning twitching every time the phone rang in case it was Kerry to say that Steve was there. She should refuse to see him. That was the most sensible course of action. Except … it would be good to see him again. And she was curious as to why he had come.

She waited till 1pm, but he still hadn’t turned up, so in the end she went out to get herself a sandwich. He probably wasn’t coming. It must be a wind-up. She was just turning back down the street where her office was, when she heard the sound of a revving engine, and a blur of silver and black roared past her, heading for her office entrance. She swallowed hard. Typical of Steve to want to make a grand entrance.

He mounted the pavement in the square in front of her office, and sat legs astride his bike, the engine still throbbing, a vision of masculine beauty in his black leathers. He took off his helmet as she arrived, and shook out his tousled mane of black curls. He gave her his wonky grin, and his green eyes sparkled with delight as she approached him. Claire was having difficulty breathing. She had forgotten he could have that effect on her. After Barry’s rather pretty boy looks it was quite a shock to reencounter the rugged sensuality that was Steve.

‘Hi,’ she squeaked, her mouth dry, and her heart hammering so loud she felt sure the whole world could hear it. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I came to see you of course,’ said Steve, switching off the engine, and climbing off the bike.

‘You do know I’m getting married in three weeks, don’t you?’ Claire felt like a child in a sweet shop, so wanting to touch, and knowing she shouldn’t.

‘Yes, I know. I ran into your mum in town.We went for a coffee in Costa. She told me.’

‘Really?’ Claire was amazed. All the time she’d been going out with Steve, she’d got the impression they thought she could do better. How come her mum was suddenly having coffee with him?

‘She’s worried about you, Claire,’ he said. ‘Both your parents are. They don’t think this Barry is right for you.’

Claire was speechless. How dare her parents interfere in her life?

‘It’s none of their damned business,’ said Claire. ‘Or yours for that matter.’

‘Isn’t it?’ he looked at her. Such a look, it made her feel he was staring into her soul.

‘Don’t marry Barry,’ he said. ‘Marry me.’

Claire swallowed hard. Here he was asking her the one question she had always wanted him to. Now. When it was too late.

‘Steve, I can’t. It’s over. I love Barry, and I’m marrying him. I’m sorry,’ she said.

‘Not even if I proved to you that Barry is wrong for you, and that we should be together?’

‘How are you going to prove that?’ said Claire. ‘Besides. He isn’t wrong for me. You are. You’ve never committed yourself to anyone or anything in your life. Why should I believe you?’

‘Because I’ve changed,’ said Steve. ‘You were right. I was going nowhere in my life. But I’ve just enrolled on a college course in ICT. But before I do that, I still want to travel. My offer still stands.’

‘It’s too late,’ said Claire. ‘I am going to marry Barry. Now if you’ll excuse

me, I have work to do.’

Still shaking, she brushed past Steve to go into the building. He caught her arm, and pulled her to him, and suddenly she was drowning in his arms, and they were kissing as if they had never kissed before.

‘No,’ Claire pushed him back. ‘Sorry, Steve, this is just wrong. I have to go.’

‘Now tell me we’re wrong for each other.’ She couldn’t bear to see the pleading in his eyes.

‘We’re wrong for each other,’ Claire said, and stumbled inside.

‘I’m not going to give up,’ Steve said. ‘I love you.’

‘Too late,’ said Claire. ‘I’m in love with someone else.’

*

Three weeks later, Claire stood in the bright July sunshine, dressed in the Donna Karan dress she had chosen so many weeks ago. She posed for pictures with her five adorable little bridesmaids (all nieces of Barry), and Mel, her only grown-up one. And she smiled and smiled, as she tried to blot out the image in her mind of Steve in his leathers, roaring up on his motorbike to whisk her away. He had rung her every day since their meeting, but she had refused to take his calls. And several times he had waited for her after work, until she had got really angry and told him to sod off in no uncertain terms. It seemed he had taken her at her word, as she hadn’t seen him for over a week now. She didn’t know if she was glad or sorry.

Because however much she told herself that this was what she had always dreamed of, and that it was going to be the most perfect day of her life, she couldn’t help the niggling feeling in the back of her mind that something was missing. She wasn’t sure if it was the fact that she had hardly seen Barry in the weeks leading up to the wedding – he blamed work commitments as a reason for not getting more involved in the preparations – or the fact that she was beginning to feel a stranger at her own party. She felt like she was on a rollercoaster that she couldn’t get off. She would have confided in Mel about it, but until today, she hadn’t seen Mel for weeks. Mel, too, seemed to always be busy when Claire wanted to talk.

Claire shook her head in a determined fashion, as the photographer pointed her and Mel towards the church door for one last photo. She was being daft. All brides were nervous. It was only natural.

‘You look green,’ said Mel digging her in the ribs. ‘You’re not having second thoughts are you?’

‘Course not,’ said Claire, more forcefully then she felt.

‘It’s not too late to change your mind,’ said Mel. ‘But don’t mind me.’

‘Shut up,’ said Claire, grimacing at the photographer.

‘Heard from Steve again?’ said Mel with a grin.

‘No,’ said Claire.

‘And you didn’t tell Barry about seeing him?’ said Mel.

‘No,’ said Claire.

‘What a way to start a marriage,’ said Mel. ‘It’s nice to know both of you have secrets from one another.’

‘What do you mean, both of us?’

‘Did I say both of you? I meant you of course,’ said Mel. ‘Isn’t it time we got in the church?’

Claire couldn’t help wondering what Mel meant as she walked down the aisle to the Trumpet Voluntary. God, what a cliché! Shame Barry’s mum couldn’t have chosen something a little bit more interesting. Steve would probably have had her stepping down to Born to be Wild or something.

She reached Barry, at last, and Dad handed her over to him. They smiled shyly at each other, and Claire took a deep breath. She was doing the right thing. This was just what she had always dreamed of.

Claire was in a happy daze as the service started, and before she knew it, the all-important moment arrived. It was time to make her vows, and become a married woman.

‘Is there any reason why these two should not be joined in matrimony?’ the vicar was saying in sonorous tones, and everyone was no doubt nodding and smiling as they always do at weddings, knowing no one is going to say anything, when—

‘Yes!’ The whole congregation turned to the back of the church. Claire turned last, reluctant to acknowledge the sound of a voice she knew, and trying to repress the singing in her heart as she heard him call her name.

‘Claire, you can’t marry Barry,’ Steve said, standing in his black leathers, bathed in sunlight, like a glorious vision, a modern day Sir Lancelot, come to take her away on his metal steed.

‘Why not?’ she asked.

‘Because he doesn’t love you,’ said Steve. ‘And I do.’

‘Of course he loves me,’ Claire felt she had to say it. ‘Don’t be daft.’

‘No, he doesn’t,’ said Steve. ‘He’s having an affair with your bridesmaid.’

‘He’s wha-at?’ Claire couldn’t take it in. It all fitted. Barry’s indifference. The fact that Mel had been so absent for the last few weeks.

‘Don’t listen to him,’ said Barry. ‘Of course I haven’t been having an affair.’

‘Yes, don’t be silly, Claire,’ said Mel. ‘Why would I do that to you?’

‘Nah, it’s true,’ Kerry’s voice piped up from the middle of the church. ‘The whole office knows about it.’

‘And I’m the last to know,’ said Claire with icy anger.

‘She doesn’t mean anything,’ gabbled Barry. ‘It’s you I love.’

‘You bastard,’ said Mel and took her bouquet and whacked Barry round the head with it. ‘If you must know, you were a lousy lay. You’re welcome to him, Claire.’ And she stormed off.

‘So it is true,’ Claire looked at Barry sadly. ‘How could you?’

‘I – er – but I love you,’ sputtered Barry.

‘You have a bloody funny way of showing it,’ said Claire. ‘Here take this. Your next girlfriend might want it.’ She flung her engagement ring in his face, lifted up the skirts of her dress, turned round and ran down the aisle into Steve’s arms.

‘Fancy coming for a ride?’ he said, with a mischievous twinkle.

‘But I haven’t got a helmet,’ she said.

‘Oh yes, you have,’ Steve said, leading her out of the church. ‘I kept your old one. It’s on the bike, along with your leathers and DMs.’

They ran hand in hand towards Steve’s sleek, silver machine. Steve climbed on board, and passed Claire her helmet. She hitched up her skirts, kicked off her high heels, replacing them with her much worn and loved DMs, put her leather jacket on over her dress, and climbed up behind him.

‘Aren’t you worried about the dress?’ said Steve.

‘Not in the slightest,’ said Claire. ‘I’m just picturing Barry’s mum’s face, when she realises what is happening to the very expensive Donna Karan dress she bought. Where are we going?’

‘Does it matter?’ asked Steve.

‘No,’ said Claire, leaning against him with a delicious sigh, ‘but round the world sounds like a good place to start.’