Chapter 7
‘Can I help you?’ the ticket agent smiled. He had less than half an hour before the end of his shift and the sight of the pretty blonde opposite him was a pleasant end to a long day.
‘I need to catch a flight to Heathrow,’ Mel gasped dropping her heavy holdall onto the ground.
‘When do you wish to fly?’
‘Today.’
‘Er, don’t think you’ll be in luck, but I’ll check, okay?’ the agent said, tapping away on the keyboard, but knowing without even looking that there were no flights to Heathrow. How in the name of God did people think there would be empty seats on any flight during the summer season. Shaking his head, he kept on tapping. ‘Sorry, miss, there are no available seats left, I’m afraid. Not until...let me see...’ he peered back at the monitor.
‘The next available seat is tomorrow morning.’
‘There has to be one,’ Mel cried.
The agent pressed his lips together shaking his head. ‘Nope, nothing to Heathrow, I’m afraid.’
‘But I really have to get back,’ she added, suddenly terrified that this whole trip was for nothing.
‘I’m sorry. I can book you on the early flight tomorrow morning?’
‘What time?’
‘6:05?’
‘What about a cancellation?’
The agent tapped another button shaking his head as the information scrolled down.
‘Please I have to get back, it’s an emergency.’
‘Sorry, it’s the best, I can do.’
‘What about first class?’
‘Ah...’ the agent said, sounding more hopeful.
‘Yes, there are seats available, but more expensive than economy.’
‘How much more?’ Mel asked, extracting her purse from her rucksack.
‘£450.00, one way.’
‘What...?’
‘£450.00,’ he repeated.
‘I don’t have £450.00... Oh please, it’s an emergency!’
‘What type of emergency, a funeral...?’
‘No...yes!’ she rushed. ‘Miss?’
‘Yes.’
‘If it's a funeral, the airline will need verification,’ he warned. ‘Oh.’
‘Is it an emergency?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is it a funeral?’
‘No...’
‘Is there someone who is ill?’
‘No.’
‘Hmm.’
‘Please,’ she begged. ‘I’m sorry,’ he sighed.
She frowned biting down hard on her lip. ‘What about Gatwick?’ she suddenly asked.
‘Booked solid.’
‘Stanstead?’
‘Same,’ he kept his eyes on the screen. ‘Shit!’
‘What about Luton?’ he added. ‘Luton?’
‘You could get a connecting flight, or take the train.’
‘Go on then, book me in,’ Mel decided. Nothing was going to come between her and her Marc, after all, you knew what might happen if he was over there without her.
***
Suitcase open across his bed, he admired the neat stacks of freshly ironed t-shirts, shorts and jeans, lying asymmetrically side by side.
Double checking that his new turbo hairdryer and adaptor were also there, he hummed happily to himself. Reaching inside his Lacoste bag, he mentally checked off each item. Aftershave, razors, toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, Vidal shampoo, Vidal conditioner, sunscreen...where’s my lip balm? Walking out of his room onto the landing he leant over the banisters. ‘Oi, Mum, where’s my lip balm?’ he roared.
At the foot of the stairs Carol Whyte appeared. Tall, thin, with a full head of streaked peroxide curls surrounding a deeply lined brown face, she smiled her crooked, bleached-white teeth up at the love of her life, her very reason for breathing. Marc. Or Marcus as she often called him, liking the exotic-ness of its sound. ‘What is it, Marcus?’ she asked, placing a carefully manicured hand on her tight- jeaned hip.
‘My lip balm, you said you got it,’ he snapped. ‘I put it on your bed, darling,’ she soothed.
‘Where...? I’m not getting bloody cold sores over you,’ he huffed walking back into the bedroom and slamming the door.
‘I put it on your bed, Marcus,’ she sighed softly. Climbing the stairs for the umpteenth time that morning, her back aching already from the numerous trips, she reached the top of the landing and knocked gently on his door.
‘What?’
‘Can I come in?’ she waited expectantly. He jerked the door open wide and scowled at her.
‘I’m sure I put it on your bed, let me have a look.’
‘Go on then, but hurry up. I’ve got things to sort out,’ he scowled. Walking around the side of his bed, she got down on all fours leaning one hand on top of his bed for balance.
‘Watch it!’ he snapped pulling the suitcase toward him.
‘Sorry, babe,’ she said, placating him. Running her hand along the woollen surface of his bedroom carpet she searched blindly for the small plastic tube. ‘Here it….’ she stopped short lifting out a tube of K-Y Jelly. ‘Oh...’
‘Duuuh..can’t put that on my lips,’ he sneered snatching the tube from her hand and throwing it into his bag. Bending down again she searched beneath his bed for a second time pushing her hand closer to the wall.
‘Ah-ha!’ she sang, gripping the plastic phial and looking at the label before handing it to him. Standing up she smiled, catching sight of his heavily gelled hair flopping deliberately down the side of his face, soaking up the handsome features of her son. She hated that he was going away for two weeks, but there was an upside to the trip, and that was he was going away with his friends, and not that little mare of a girlfriend, Mel. It wasn’t natural how obsessed that Melanie had become with her Marcus. When the slut wasn’t in bed with him, she was either in her kitchen making Marcus a sandwich or in her living room watching her television, and as always, wrapped around him so tight she wondered how on earth he could breathe, let alone eat the sandwiches she made.
All in all it just wasn't right. But the fact that she kept on insisting that his name was Marc and not Marcus was what really irked her the most. Carol, had birthed him, christened him and brought him up, so she should bloody-well know what his name was and it certainly wasn‘t plain old Marc. It didn’t occur to Carol for one moment that Marcus actually preferred Marc. He thought Marcus sounded ‘well gay’ and had told everyone that fact since he was in junior school.
Another thing Carol particularly hated was when she found Mel’s clothes left behind in her home, as far as she was concerned the pain- in-the-arse didn’t need another excuse to come around, so Carol did what she thought best, she binned them. It didn’t matter what it was, a coat, some shoes, boots, you name it Carol binned it. Who did the cheeky little tramp think she was anyway, his wife? It wouldn’t surprise her if the little bitch tried to trap him. Carol wasn’t stupid, she knew that those type of girls knew every trick in the book. She had no intention of being a grandmother just yet. And besides, she didn’t think Marcus was ready for that type of responsibility.
Carol knew she indulged his every whim but she also enjoyed every single minute of it, even if it had been at the expense of her husband and daughter. What Carol failed to see however, was that the harder she held onto Marcus, the further he was running away from her. Geoff, on the other hand, her husband of twenty four years, could see it plainly, that the lad was about to flee, but he hoped Marc's flight from Carol’s grasp wouldn’t happen for some time yet, because the abnormal amount of attention and time Carol bestowed on their son suited him perfectly. Golf was his all time consuming passion, but more importantly, it served him quite the perfect alibi to take up with a few sorts now and again, so overall, Geoff was quite content with the status quo. Marcus was Carol's main focus of attention and that little arrangement suited Geoff no end.
He felt sorry for their daughter Sabrina though. Sabby went off on one every now and then, and placating her with cash was always the easiest option to soothe her jealousy. He could well afford it, and Carol was happy to let him. All-in-all, Carol was welcome to her Marcus and her Marcus he was. The mouthy little fucker had nothing in common with him and he had no real idea what his son was like, but nor did he care to find out.
He thought the blonde-streaked little pillock was generally a waste of space, at the best of times and he was honest enough to admit that he had no desire to get to know him let alone spend time with the little ponce. Carol was welcome to it, as he had much more interesting fish to fry.
Crossing the room he opened the door and Carol turned around. ‘What?’ he jerked his head upright, his face scowling.
She responded to his petulance with a smile of adoration. ‘What?’ he repeated.
‘You be safe over there, now,’ she warned. ‘Go away, Mum,’ he muttered.
Finding humour in his rebuke she just smiled that same sick puppy-dog smile that irritated Marc to death.
‘Sod off, Mum, will you?’
‘I‘m going, darling, I‘m going,’ she said, skipping out of the room and closing the door gently behind her. Carol thought about what she would do next. It was going to be a long fortnight, and she'd spend that time crossing off the days until his return. She had even stuck a calendar to the fridge door to mark the date of his return. Lost in the moment of his home coming, she wondered what little surprise she could have waiting for him. The phone rang and her thoughts evaporated as she picked up the receiver, ‘Hello?’ she said.
‘Is Marc there?’ a young female voice asked, breathing rapidly.
‘Who is it?’ Carol asked, her eyes narrowing. ‘Er...it's Mel.’
‘Marcus, darling...it’s for you!’ Carol shouted up the stairs. ‘Who is it?’ he asked.
‘Mel.’
‘Who?’
‘Mel!’
‘I'll take it up here,’ he said. There was a short pause as he walked to the upstairs extension. ‘Got it, okay mum, you can put it down,’ Marc commanded.
Ignoring his request Carol covered the mouthpiece and held the receiver to her ear.
‘Marc, it’s me.’
‘What d’you want?’ he snapped. ‘You don’t sound too happy?’
‘Just surprised to hear from you, that’s all,’ he said, rolling his eyes.
‘Guess what...?’ she squealed, trying her best to ignore the obvious boredom in his voice.
‘What?’
‘I’ve a surprise for you.’
‘Yeah?’ he replied, suddenly interested. ‘I’m coming with you!’ she sang. ‘What?’
‘I’m coming to Corfu with you.’
‘You can’t!’ he almost cried.
‘Yes I can,’ she squealed again mistaking the incredulity in his voice for shock.
‘But you’re in Ireland,’ he could feel a knot of irritation tighten in his stomach.
‘Not for long, I’ve just booked a flight to Luton. I know-I know, Luton isn’t London, but it was the only flight, and--’
‘Hang on, Mel, you’re supposed to be on holiday. I thought you said you’d be gone for at least ten days?’ he snapped.
This time Mel heard the irritation in his voice. ‘I thought you’d be happy. You said you’re only going to Corfu because I’d gone away, well now we can go together,’ she said, still smiling.
‘But we leave on Wednesday morning,’ he whined. ‘So?’
‘So...?’ he answered slowly stalling for more time.
‘So?’ she repeated the question. ‘You can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because...it’s all booked and you’re not booked in, besides, you went away on holiday by yourself, and I didn’t mind, so I’m going by myself,’ he answered self-righteously.
‘I had to go for Eva‘s sake, you know that.’
‘Yeah well, you made that choice, I didn’t,’ he threw back. ‘Marc?’ she answered, sounding hurt and on the edge of tears.
‘Sorry, Mel, but this is a done deal. I’ll see you when I get back and then we’ll talk,’ he added happily, glad that his get-out clause was not only plausible but also that the blame was resting firmly on Mel’s shoulders.
‘But--?’
‘I ain’t going to discuss it anymore, Mel, we’ll talk when I get back,’ he reaffirmed and hung up the phone.
‘Marc...?’ Mel began to cry. ‘Marc...are you there?’ she called again.
Replacing the receiver, Carol smiled, and this time the smile reached her eyes.
***
Heavy black clouds rolling in from the Atlantic came in thick and fast over the horizon giving an eerie murkiness that surprised Mia with its sudden darkness. She had hoped that the morning sun would have remained at least until she had made her call, if nothing else, to lighten the moment. With the phone lying beside her, she was toying with the idea of phoning Simone, as so far, her response to the news of the pregnancy was confounding. Simone’s disinterest kept resurfacing and disturbing her over and over again.
Did she not realise, how wanted this baby was? Could she not cherish this moment with her? After all, Simone was like the sister she had never had. Hadn’t they had been through so much together, tied together, bonded by years of living life beneath the shadows.
She would have even gone as far to say that Simone was her one- time soul mate, until she'd met Oliver, at least. They had been there for each other through the worst of times, so now all she wanted was for her oldest, and most trusted, friend to be there for the best of times. What could be so wrong with that? No matter how she tried to figure it out, she kept coming up empty. There was one thing though, one tiny voice that had popped into her head that disappeared just as quickly...‘Oliver.’ Dismissing the thought as quickly as it appeared, she knew that couldn’t possibly be the issue. Oliver and Simone had barely tolerated each other in the beginning, in fact they were hardly able stay in the same room with one another, each eyeing the other with suspicion and mistrust.
So after one too many sparring sessions, Mia had had enough. She had sat them down together, told them both that she wasn’t going to put up with their unfathomable dislike of each other any longer, and that they would both have to get on with each other for her sake. Mia’s frustration at the time, and refusal to let either of them leave until it was sorted out, had worked. From that fraught afternoon on, their civility had grown to mutual understanding. They had even come to like each other and be very easy in each other’s company.
It was what Mia had wanted and they had cared enough about her to put their differences aside. Yet, why had the thought popped into her mind in the first place? Mia eyed the phone again. ‘Maybe I should just go and see her,’ she sighed, but the thoughts of entering that large soulless city did little to persuade her. She hated the traffic, the noise, the old dirty buildings, the claustrophobia about the place. She particularly couldn’t stand the manic rushing and racing of big- city life. But she felt Sim was hiding something from her, what it was she had no clue, but perhaps on a one-to-one, she would find out. ‘Looks like I’m off to Dublin’ she groaned. Snatching up the phone she tapped in Simone’s number from memory. It rang for a short time and then connected to Simone's messages.
‘Hi, Sim, it’s me. I’m thinking about coming up to Dublin this week, how about you and I meet up, have a girly night? I’ll make my own way over to your place. If you’ve plans ring me back. Love you, bye.’ Disconnecting the phone, she stood and walked a few paces forward. ‘Maybe I can pick up a few things for the baby while I'm up there,’ she added, lightening the thought of her impending journey.
The phone rang. Snatching it up she pressed the connection button. ‘Sim?’
‘No, it's me.’
‘Hi, Ol,’ she smiled.
‘Expecting Simone to call?’
‘Yeah. I’m going up to see her for a night.’
‘When?’
‘This week.’
‘Aw, do you have to?’
‘Yes and no,’ she replied. ‘Which is it?’
‘Both?’
‘Can I come?’ he whined playfully. ‘No, girlies only, I'm afraid.’
‘What'll I do to entertain myself?’
‘You could sort out the back bedroom.’
‘Prefer it when you're there watching me being all home building and manly, I need an audience.’
‘Shut up you ejit,’ she laughed ‘what’s up?’
‘Just ringing to see if you want a Chinese?’
‘That’d be nice.’
‘Usual?’
‘Am I that predictable?’
‘Christ no!’ he laughed.
‘The usual it is then,’ she laughed with him.
‘Love you, Mee’s,’ he added his pet name for her but disconnected before she could answer. Throwing the phone back onto the couch, Mia walked through to the hall. Climbing the stairs her thoughts remained with Oliver and how easy he was to be with. It felt so right so effortless, it was a good place to be. She could have so easily changed her mind there and then about going to Dublin, but she wanted some answers and the only way to get them was to meet Sim on home territory. After all, Simone couldn’t run away there the way she had on their last meeting.
***
Bending down to retrieve the purse, Jack handed it back to its owner who, as she took it from him flushed a bright red, her attraction for him very obvious.
‘You are such a tart,’ Simone rolled her eyes.
‘Helping a woman in distress doesn’t qualify me as being a tart,’ Jack grinned.
‘It does if she's good looking,' she muttered.
Jack laughed leaning back in his chair. Looking out toward the sea he watched the beauty of the coastline being covered slowly by a sheet of rain that was quickly heading their way.
‘By the way, Jack, thanks for this,’ she said, nodding over his head.
‘For what?’ he turned back to her.
‘For dinner, for flying me to dinner, I mean.’
‘All part of my charm,’ he smiled.
‘When you said a bite to eat, I reckoned Georgio’s in town, not flying me down to Cork and lunch in Kinsale for the afternoon.’ He smiled, pleased that Simone appreciated the gesture. She had been like a cat on a hot tin roof lately and it was beginning to grate on him.
‘Shame you didn’t keep your uniform on,’ she toyed playfully. ‘I could wear my cap?’
‘Just the cap?’ she laughed.
‘I could stretch it to my regulation socks.’
‘You really know how to spoil a girl, don't you?’ she laughed. ‘It’s such pity we have to go back so soon,’ she added.
‘Says who?’
‘Don’t we?’
‘Well, I’m not on until the morning.’
‘Is it my birthday or something?’
‘No, you just looked like you needed it,’ he added seriously. ‘I did.’
‘Why?’
‘You tell me?’
‘I’m asking you.’
Simone sighed before answering.
‘I don‘t know, Jack... Lately I’m becoming restless again.’
Jack hated hearing her say that. It wasn’t the first time she'd said it and he noticed that she was saying it with more and more regularity these days. He had a bad feeling that this was all going to end badly, he just didn’t know when.
‘Is it London?’
‘No, not that, I couldn’t go back now even if I wanted to.’
‘What then?’
‘Really can’t say,’ she answered with some honesty, looking around the restaurant and watching other couples absorbed with each other in deep conversation. She noticed how easy and effortlessly they all fitted together, as if they had some unique code for slotting neatly together. Something she wished for but had never felt with any man, until now that was. She sighed again unaware that Jack was staring at her.
‘Sim?’
‘Hmm?’
‘Do you think you might ever want kids?’
‘God no!’ she answered sharply, startled by the question. ‘Why not?’
‘You ask me this every single time we have dinner lately, you know the answer and you know why not. Endlessly repeating the same question over and over is not going to change my mind,’ she reached for her wine-glass and sipped.
‘You might change your mind someday...a man can hope.’
‘Jack, you know I will never have kids, I've always told you that, I’ve always been honest.'
‘We all say things we don't really mean, at one time or another. Things change. Sometime we change,’ he added.
‘Meaning?’ she lowered her glass. ‘Meaning just that.’
‘I’ve never played you, Jack, don’t start all that shit again,’ she was getting fed up with this same argument.
‘What shit...? Commitment?’
‘Why don’t you stop playing games, and tell it as it is?’ she snapped. ‘What’s bugging you, Sim, you’ve been acting like a right…’
‘What…?’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ he sighed. ‘Look, Jack, don’t spoil the day.’
‘Just trying to get inside your head.’
‘Well don’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘You mightn’t like what you see,’ she warned, lifting the glass back to her lips.
Jack fought the urge to react. He hated the increasing coldness in her voice lately. It was something he was on the receiving end of, far too much recently, and it was really beginning to piss him off. Of all the women he had dated over the years, Simone was the only one he took this crap from. Well, the only one that lasted, he conceded.
Now though he was beginning to feel her pulling back emotionally, subtle as it was. In the beginning, this detachment had enchanted him, attracted him even, her total disregard for his happiness had been a rare and exciting concept. It had been the challenge he had so badly needed, the challenge to get up close and melt this iceberg of a woman. Having been so bored with previous relationships, which had ended up predictably with the discussion of marriage, kids and mortgages, Simone had been the proverbial breath of fresh air. In previous relationships, when the women had been so accommodating to him, so amenable to his whims even to the point of self inflicted degradation, he had always felt a total shit when the end came. Their tolerance, of his sometimes appalling behaviour toward them, had had the reverse effect, making him run for the hills.
As with all beginnings, most women were a challenge, but in a matter of weeks Jack had always noticed their independence would fly out the door and he on its coat tails. With Simone though, it was completely different. She was incredibly beautiful, but then she knew it too. Her blue eyes would glitter, sparkle even, with mischievousness mystery, flummoxing him more often than not. No matter how close they became, he could never see what lay behind those eyes, know what she really thought. One moment she could be vulnerable and needy, and it was during these times he felt he was gradually breaking down the walls. But then in a blink, she would be utterly irritated by him.
More than once, had he been on the receiving end of her cruel humour and unkind indifference. And yet so sexy and self assured, she had him dancing to her every tune no matter the song. From day one she hadn’t needed him, and he had known this from the beginning. That independence, that indifference was what has enraptured him and now had ironically brought him to love her. But now that he loved her, he wanted her to end her indifference to him and start needing him, the way that he needed her. He reasoned that he was a complex bastard at the best of times, and knew without doubt many past girlfriends who would say he had it coming. It was three years now and still no sign of commitment from Simone.
He had tried to get a promise out of her, some sign that they would indeed spend their lives together. He even set up a proposal one night, albeit aided by a couple of bottles of Chablis, but he had tested the waters all the same. Taking care to set the scene, he bought the most beautiful sapphire he could find, one that mirrored the very colour of her eyes. Next, he organised a private suite at a top starred hotel, with full view of Lake Garda, with private concierge on site for whatever their needs were to be that weekend. The whole episode had set him back a buck or two, but knowing if he was to get Simone to accept his proposal, he would have to do it with finesse and style. His reward? Disbelief initially, then a roar of bellowing laughter, followed by an absolute refusal ever to become a wife. She had even laughed at the ring he'd chosen, ‘contrived and corny’ she had said. Humiliated, he vowed never to ask her again, but such was his need for her, he had brought the subject up again, sometime later that Christmas.
Again the setting was intimate and special, but this time he spoke without any of the frills or fripperies. What followed was one of the most vicious fights they had ever had. She had ended up screaming at him, calling him a hypocrite and a fraud and for the first time in their relationship, he had been close to walking away from her for good. He had expected some reaction, but certainly not the one he'd gotten.
After that particular fight he had stormed off into the night and not contacted her for a full month. As time passed he had softened, but he was the one that had to make that first move. When he did return, she behaved like nothing out of the ordinary had happened and he decided to never bring the subject up again. From then on, he began to toy with the idea of perhaps living with her, and having a child together without the marriage bit. It didn’t sit easy with him, he was an old-fashioned sod at heart, but he loved her enough to appease her.
Whatever about marriage, one thing he did want to share with her was parenthood, or even the hope of it happening, but in the light of day however, or in the quieter times of his transatlantic flights, Jack always knew the truth. Simone would never love him the way he loved her, she would never marry him, never have a child with him. She would never be completely his. His increasing acceptance of this was having an adverse affect on his inner strength, that ability of his to cut losses and move on. In short, he had become just like his exes, needy, hopeful and waiting patiently in the wings, for the improbable to happen.
He did decide though, that whatever her reasons, three years on he was entitled to think they had some sort of future together. Simone distracted him by moving toward her bag, retrieving her cigarettes and lighting one up. ‘Will you ever just give them up, Sim?’
‘Don’t nag.’
‘I just happen to give a shit about you, that's all,’ he sulked, reaching for his coffee cup.
‘You determined to ruin this, aren’t you?’ He didn’t answer.
‘Look, Jack, answer me honestly?’
‘What?’
‘Do you want to be here with me?’
‘No. Couldn’t find anyone else at such short notice,’ he answered evenly.
Her mouth curled up into a smile. ‘Ah... The old Jack returns,’ she grinned
‘Old Jack didn't go anywhere,’ he answered quickly. ‘The old Jack did.’
‘Which Jack d’you want?’
‘The one, I met. The one who didn’t want marriage, kids and a Labrador called Scruffy. That’s the Jack, I want back,’ she raised her eyebrows.
‘I always wanted those things...but I hadn't met the right person,’ Jack muttered.
‘And now?’
‘I’ve met the right person.’
‘But what if that person doesn’t want the same things?’
‘Then perhaps she isn’t with the right person.’