Angel Uncovered (8 page)

Angel arranged her hands into the 'whatever' gesture.
It was fun bantering with Gemma like this but she knew
she was going to find the endless beauty preparations a
right pain in the arse.

'Clothes next. I reckon you're going to need at least
three different outfits a day – one for the hotel or
shopping, one for watching the match, and one for the
evening. And no way can you wear the same thing twice.'
Gemma was getting a glint in her eye at the prospect of
yet more clothes shopping.

'Gemma,' Angel said firmly, 'I've got enough clothes.
I'll maybe buy a couple of things, but that's it.'

'But you've got to have new bikinis for by the pool,
yours are probably all out of date,' her friend protested.

'Gemma, I've got
ten
bikinis, I don't need anymore. I'll
be spending most of the time with Honey, remember,
and I always end up getting covered in food and gunk, so
I'm not buying new outfits just for that.'

'Well, I'm going to look out some things for you,'
Gemma replied. 'And put together some outfits. It won't
be expensive stuff – just a few fashion must-haves.'

Angel sighed. Knowing Gemma, it would be futile to
argue.

'You know, you really went into the wrong business
when you became a beautician. You should have studied
fashion.'

'Yes,' Gemma replied, 'but at least I can live my dream
through you . . .
please
let me style you for the World
Cup? I promise I'll make you look fab. I'll work out all
your outfits for you and your accessories.'

'Oh, all right, 'Angel finally admitted defeat. It would
make Gemma happy, and it would save Angel from
having to waste time thinking about what to take. '
And
you can do my packing as well because isn't that what
stylists are supposed to do?' she added cheekily.

'Don't push it!' Gemma warned her.

Back home Michelle was in a state of high excitement as
she was convinced Honey had said 'Mummy'. 'Here's
Mummy!' she announced as soon as Angel walked into
the house.

'Who is it, Honey? Come on, say "Mummy" again?'

Honey chewed her favourite teddy's ear and said
nothing. 'I'm sure she said it,' Michelle carried on
happily, 'and I'm sure she'll say it again. Isn't she
clever!'

'Did she really?' Angel exclaimed, scooping up her
daughter in her arms. 'We should phone Daddy to tell
him what a clever girl you are.' She quickly selected Cal's
number on her phone, wanting to share this news with
him, but there was no answer.

She sighed. He never seemed to take her calls at the
moment.

'Not there?' her mum said sympathetically. 'He's
probably training.'

Angel looked at her watch. It was six o'clock in the
evening. She very much doubted it. She just hoped he
wasn't out with the poisonous Flavia . . .

'Do you want to stay for supper, Mum? I'm sure I've
got something in the freezer I can microwave and we can
watch
The X Factor
.'

'Thanks, love, but me and your dad are going out
tonight, remember? It's the Football Club disco.'

'Oh.' Which meant yet another night in on her own.
Angel had been spending a lot of nights like that lately
and she didn't like it.

'But you and Honey will come over for lunch
tomorrow, won't you?' her mum asked, picking up her
bag and putting on her jacket. Angel nodded as she
listlessly walked her to the front door.

'And Angel . . .' her mum hesitated. '. . . I really do
need to talk to you. I'm worried about you.'

Angel frowned and was immediately on the defensive.
'I'm absolutely fine, Mum, there's nothing to worry
about. You'd better go – you know how Dad hates being
kept waiting.' To stop her mum saying anything else she
pretended to have heard Honey crying and quickly went
back inside. Clearly Michelle had seen right through her
pretence that everything was okay but Angel just didn't
think she could handle another confrontation.

The house seemed horribly empty. She put on an Al
Green CD to fill the silence but the music just reminded
her of Cal and of how much she missed him as it was one
of his favourite artists. She picked up her mobile and
tried his number but again it went straight to voicemail.
'Cal, it's me. Can you ring me back? I really want to talk
to you. Love you.'

She gave Honey her bath and her bottle, then tucked
her up in her cot and read her a story. Her daughter
looked so much like Cal, having inherited his olive skin,
beautiful brown eyes and jet black hair. Yet again Angel
felt awful for coming home but she knew she couldn't
have stayed in Italy a minute longer.

Downstairs again she went into the kitchen. She
opened the freezer and aimlessly shuffled through the
ready meals, but nothing appealed to her. Instead she
poured herself a large glass of wine, went into the living
room and switched on the TV.
The X Factor
was on. How
did the contestants manage to look so happy and
enthusiastic? They all seemed like aliens to her as she
struggled to remember when she'd last felt happy.

She'd drunk the glass of wine before she realised it and
went into kitchen to get a refill then returned to her place
on the sofa. She drank that glass quickly too, anything to
block out the present, to win just a few hours' respite
from the depression. This time when she went to the
kitchen she brought the bottle back.

She picked up her mobile and tried Cal again.
Voicemail again. Where was he? If Cal was setting out to
punish her, he was doing a very good job. Wanting
reassurance she called Gemma but got her voicemail as
well. She tried Jez, he too was on voicemail. She even
tried a couple of her glamour girlfriends who she hadn't
seen for months but there was no answer there either.
She looked at her watch. Nine o'clock on a Saturday
night . . . what did she expect? Everyone else was out,
everyone else had a life. She finished the bottle of wine.
She was drunk.

Because she'd lost so much weight lately and because
she hadn't eaten since lunch her tolerance was especially
low. Somehow she managed to get upstairs and check on
Honey who was fast asleep, then she went back downstairs
and opened another bottle. She downed two more
glasses and then must have passed out. She woke at four
to the sound of Honey crying. She stumbled off the sofa
and staggered upstairs. Honey was red-faced and her
eyes were swollen. She looked as if she'd been crying for
some time. Angel picked up her daughter and cradled
her in her arms. Her head was pounding and she felt
sick. She couldn't believe that she'd slept through her
own baby's crying. What kind of mother was she?
Eventually Honey calmed down and Angel was able to
put her down in her cot and go to her own bed. She
couldn't get back to sleep, though. She just lay there,
staring into the darkness, full of self-disgust. She was no
better than her junkie mother.

Then she realised something else. She didn't know if
Cal had phoned her back.

She got out of bed and as she made her way downstairs
to the living room caught sight of her reflection in the
large mirror on the landing wall. She was shocked by her
own appearance: mascara smudged, skin blotchy, eyes
bloodshot and face gaunt.
Jesus Christ, what am I doing to
myself?
she thought in despair. She prayed that there
would be a message from Cal, but when she checked her
phone there was nothing. It was so unlike him not to
have called back. He was obviously still very angry with
her.
Miss you
, she texted him.

At half-twelve the following day Angel was driving to her
parents' for Sunday lunch. She'd taken several paracetamol
and forced down some toast but felt crap. And
Cal hadn't yet called her.

Her parents still lived in the same terraced house in
Brighton that Angel had grown up in. Stepping inside it
was like going back in time. Very little had changed:
there were still the same immaculately painted magnolia
walls and cream carpets, the brown leather sofas in the
living room. The only real differences were the photographs
on the walls. Pictures of Angel modelling – at least
the ones where she had her clothes on; pictures of her
wedding day; Tony's too; and pictures of Honey –
Michelle and Frank were very proud parents and
grandparents.

'Did you have a bad night with Honey?' Michelle asked
as soon as her daughter walked through the front door.

Angel rarely wore much make up during the day – tinted
moisturiser, mascara and lip gloss were usually all it took
to make her look stunning. But today there was no way
she could get away with so little, and she'd had to go for
the full works. Apparently it hadn't worked.

'Yes,' Angel lied. 'She was up for hours.'

'You poor thing,' Michelle said sympathetically. 'Give
her to me and go and see your dad. He's a bit hungover
so be gentle with him. Tony and Gemma will be here in a
minute.'

Angel handed Honey over to her mum and found her
dad in the lounge. He was sitting in his favourite
armchair, pretending to read the paper.

'Hi, Dad,' said Angel, bending down to give him a
quick kiss and wincing at the whisky fumes. 'Good night,
was it?'

'Bit too good,' Frank groaned. 'We were celebrating
the cheque we got from Cal's charity.' Frank made his
living as a builder but his passion was football and in his
spare time he coached the youth team in Brighton. Angel
looked blank. 'Didn't he tell you? It's very generous,
means we can run extra training sessions and not have to
ask parents for money which most of them can't afford
anyway.'

Angel felt miserable that Cal hadn't told her. Usually
they shared everything and she knew how much his
charity meant to him.

'He's still angry with me,' she muttered.

Frank sighed. 'He probably feels very lonely out there.
Coming home to an empty house every night is no life for
him. You should be with him, love.'

This was the last thing Angel wanted to discuss. She
muttered something about helping her mum in the
kitchen. She felt bad enough about herself without
putting up with her dad's criticism.

Honey was sitting on the kitchen floor banging loudly on
several saucepans with a wooden spoon, an activity that
was not likely to improve Angel's headache.

'So did she say it to you?' Michelle asked, as she
checked on the roast potatoes and chicken in the oven.

'Say what?' Angel asked, flopping down in one of the
kitchen chairs.

'Mummy,' Michelle answered in a tone that said, How
could you not have remembered?

Angel shook her head.

'Oh, well, I'm sure she will soon.'

'Mmm,' was all Angel could manage, thinking the only
thing Honey was likely to say was 'Bad Mummy. Drunk
Mummy. Could do so much better Mummy.'

'Anyway,' her own mum continued, 'now perhaps we
can have that talk.'

Angel's heart sank; she really couldn't hold it together
if her mum started on her. She was about to reply that
there was no need when she was saved by the doorbell –
Tony and Gemma had arrived.

'I'll get it,' she said, instantly getting up.

She opened the door to her brother and best friend
who both looked sickeningly healthy. They'd cycled up
from their seafront flat – a wedding present from
Gemma's parents. Tony and Gemma divided their time
between Brighton and London so they could be close to
Tony's work as one of the physios for Spurs. For the next
half-hour Angel kept herself busy, making everyone
coffee and setting the table so as to avoid that conversation
with her mum and also trying not to obsess over
why Cal still hadn't called her. But as soon as they sat
down to lunch the questions about her husband kicked
off.

'How's Cal?' Tony asked, helping himself to roast
potatoes. 'I haven't heard from him all week.' He and Cal
had been friends from childhood and were still close.

'Good. Very busy,' Angel answered, handing Honey a
breadstick to avoid looking at Tony, not wanting to let
on that she hadn't heard from her husband for two
days.

'Has he got the date yet for flying out to the States?'
The World Cup was starting at the beginning of June and
the team would be flying out early for three weeks'
intensive training.

Angel shook her head. 'I don't think so.'

'Do you think Cal will be allowed to fly back for Angel's
birthday?' Gemma asked, looking concerned for her
friend.

Tony frowned. 'I doubt it. You'll just have to celebrate
before he goes.'

Angel looked down at the table, willing herself not to
cry. Naively she'd imagined that he would be able to fly
back and that she could make things up to him then.

'That's a shame,' Michelle said.

'No, it's fine,' Angel said, falsely bright. 'I can't expect
to have wonderful birthdays every year.'

Her birthday the year before had been amazing. Cal
had booked them a surprise trip on the Orient Express.
In Venice they stayed at the luxurious Gritti Palace
Hotel, overlooking the Grand Canal. It had been the
perfect romantic mini-break. The list of presents he'd
bought her had been breathtaking, too – a diamond
necklace he'd designed and had made by their favourite
jeweller, a matching diamond bracelet, a set of Louis
Vuitton luggage and Christian Louboutin heels. But
gorgeous as they were it wasn't the expensive presents
that had made the trip so special, it was spending time
alone with Cal.

'Well, I'm sure he's got something special planned for
you this year as well,' Michelle continued.

Angel thought she would scream if her family didn't
stop going on about Cal and her birthday. She looked
meaningfully at Gemma and luckily her friend
understood and changed the subject.

Later as the two girls cleared the table and loaded up the
dishwasher Gemma apologised for not calling Angel back
the night before. 'We went to the gym and then to see a
film.'