Croissants and Jam (15 page)

    ‘They weren’t following us,’ I say with a relieved chuckle, ‘I guess they couldn’t smell the sangria on your breath after all.’

I lay my head back. Twenty minutes later we stop at a small shop and Christian disappears inside. We haven’t exchanged a word since the police car incident. I feel stupidly hurt and grab my Blackberry to text Simon. I tell him, I will soon be in Italy and can’t wait to see him. It rings immediately. I step out of the car to answer it.

    ‘Simon, oh honey, I am so sorry it is taking so long.’

I hear his weary sigh.

    ‘Well, at least you are near, when do you think you will get to Rome?’

I have no idea but I am not going to say that.

    ‘I would not think it will take me long, how is it going your end?’ I say, suddenly missing everyone.

    ‘Good, I am just going to see this string quartet that Mum and Dad hired for the reception.’

    ‘String quartet?’ I repeat.

I hate bloody string quartets and Simon knows that.

    ‘I thought we agreed to get a jazz band, you said you knew someone?’ I say, sounding like a petulant child.

    ‘Yes, well you’re not here are you?’ he says accusingly. ‘And Mum and Dad said these were good.’

Oh for Christ’s sake, am I destined to take shit from everyone? A thought enters my head.

    ‘Simon, if I hadn’t texted you would you still have phoned me about the string quartet?’

There is silence and then he coughs.

    ‘Of course, look I have to go. I will see you quite soon, hopefully.’

    ‘I love you,’ I whisper but it sounds stupidly hollow. He responds with ‘I love you too’ and hangs up. Well, bugger me, this is a strange wedding. There is a small cough behind me, and I turn to see Christian.

    ‘How long have you been there?’ I bark and march past him into the shop. I am in there for a full five minutes before I realise I have no money to buy anything. I can see him through the window talking on his phone and every so often he laughs. So, he is making it up with the lovely Claudine. I feel myself getting jealous. I must stop this. This man is no good for me. Just because he has made me laugh and I had some fun with him, it doesn’t have to mean anything. After all, I have had just as much fun with Simon haven’t I? But the truth is, I haven’t ever had this much fun with Simon. I emerge from the shop and he lifts his eyes to look at me.

    ‘Your jeans have split at the back,’ he states flatly.

I stamp my foot.

    ‘Oh fuck.’

    ‘Yes, that is the normal response from you. Here, I bought you a yogurt.’

He hands me the yogurt and climbs into the car. I meekly follow. I sit down carefully so as to not further rip the jeans. I struggle with the yogurt top.

    ‘Sod it. Why can’t they make these tops openable? It’s the twenty-first century for goodness sake and they still haven’t invented a yogurt top that just clips off?’

My hangover has returned with a vengeance. We finish the yogurts in silence and he takes my empty pot. I watch as he fumbles to open a packet of biscuits and laugh out loud when he finally rips open the packet and biscuits fly all over his seat. He looks at me and his eyes sparkle the way I have come to know.

    ‘Sorry, I snapped at you earlier,’ he says softly, ‘the whole thing with Claudine is a mess.’

I shift in my seat as I remember my conversation with Simon. I really cannot believe he is going to let his parents hire a string quartet. Just because I am not there doesn’t mean all our joint decisions should be changed.

    ‘Mine is hiring a bloody string quartet for the reception. I hate string quartets. I think he is very cross,’ I blurt out.

He nods and starts the engine. I check the map and see that we are getting close to the Italian border and my stomach churns. I had been almost two days trying to get to my wedding. At the start of the journey it was the most important thing in the world but now that I am so close it really doesn’t seem to matter anymore. I clear the yogurt pots into a carrier bag. Soon, I know that the Lemon and I will part company and I will sadly miss the car I had once hated.

Christian

    God, she even has a quaint way of snoring. I fight an overwhelming urge to slam my hand down hard on the steering wheel. Oh my God what the hell was I thinking of? I kissed her for pity’s sake. She must think I’m a right wanker. I just can’t take advantage like that. Of all people, I should have known better. She loves the arsehole. I heard her on the phone telling him so didn’t I? He is obviously more her type than I am. Thank goodness there is little chance of it happening again because we will be in Rome in a few hours. But, she did say it was lovely didn’t she? Lovely, is that all? Blimey, I ought to be insulted really. But she responded, I felt it and I am lucky it didn’t go any further. For pity’s sake, she is engaged and so am I. It’s no good, I must phone Claudine. What the hell am I playing at not contacting her and treating her like crap? God, I once loved that woman so much. Surely, I can give her the benefit of the doubt. Talk to her about her extravagances. People make mistakes. I only have to look at how close I almost came to making one. I could have let my emotions take over. She wasn’t fighting me, I noticed. I was so out of control. I really must not let it happen again. Her skin was so soft and her lips so yielding and her body so warm and inviting. Oh for God’s sake stop torturing yourself. Bels is a welcome breath of fresh air, so enjoy it. Just don’t go cocking it up. After all, you can be friends. The important thing is that I get her to this wedding. That’s what she wants. As for Claudine, what is she playing at? Villa La Cupola Suite, what on earth? I check Bels is still soundly sleeping and carefully scroll into my contacts on my phone. Luckily she continues to sleep and I click it onto hands-free. The time has certainly come to stop Claudine’s spending madness. I cancel the credit card I gave her and hang up feeling somewhat relieved. Villa La Cupola Suite, Jesus, sometimes I wonder if she actually loves me or just loves what I spend on her. Ah, come on man, give her a chance. Make something of an effort. What kind of response do you expect from her when you haven’t made any contact? Fancy showing Bels the house, what was that all about? Now, that really was you acting like a tosser. I glance over at her and smile at her sleeping sweet face which twitches every so often. God, I’d love to kiss her again. She smells so fabulous and kissing her was pure nectar. I shake my head to push the thoughts away. This is not going to come to anything. For a start, she is engaged and not only that, she is crazy about the guy. She is probably suffering from some kind of pre-wedding nerves. She is after all a bit neurotic. Sweetly neurotic, of course, but neurotic nevertheless, with all that herbal stuff she carries around. She stirs slightly and I feel a bit relieved because I know I am going to have to stop the car for there is a mild tingling in my tongue. This is just marvellous. Now, I really will look like an idiot. When did I eat nuts? Oh Lord, I’d better stop the car. I try not to moan but I do and she hears me.

Chapter Eleven

    My headache makes me sleepy and for a short time I doze. I awake with a start to the soft sound of groaning and think there must be something wrong with the car. We are on a high mountain road. I look at Christian and gasp. He is as white as a ghost and groaning like one.

    ‘Christian, what’s wrong?’ I ask, using his name for the first time.

    ‘I’m not sure. Did that yogurt have nuts in it?’ His breath is rasping. Christ, this is the last thing we need. I scramble through the carrier bag and hold up his yogurt pot.

    ‘It was a hazelnut yogurt, how could you not have seen that?’

    ‘I thought it was vanilla,’ he moans.

    ‘Vanilla, why did you think it was vanilla? Hazelnut, vanilla, vanilla, hazelnut, how are they similar?’

He points to the tub.

    ‘The colour of the tub, it’s brown.’

I stare at him.

    ‘What! Vanilla isn’t brown,’ I say incredulously.

He grips the steering wheel.

    ‘Why are you shouting at me?’ he asks, clutching his stomach and pulling over.

I hand him a carrier bag.

    ‘What’s that for?’ He snatches it from me.

    ‘In case you want to throw up or maybe breathe into it,’ I say hesitantly. I don’t know do I? I have never been with anyone who had an allergy before.

    ‘I think, if I need to breathe into a bag, it is supposed to be a paper one,’ he scoffs.

    ‘How about if you drink water from the opposite side of the glass?’ I offer helpfully.

He shakes his head.

    ‘That is for hiccups, isn’t it? You would make a terrible nurse.’

Honestly, some people are never grateful. I feel mild panic as I watch him struggle to breathe. Oh God, he isn’t going to die, is he? I offer him water but he shakes his head. I climb from the car and gasp as a large gust of wind hits me. I walk round to the driver’s side and open the door.

    ‘There,’ I say helpfully.

He grimaces.

    ‘What are you doing?’

    ‘I thought some fresh air may help.’

    ‘I don’t need fresh air, and it’s cold out there,’ he retorts slamming the door.

Oh for Christ’s sake, it isn’t that cold. I get back in the car. His shuddering breathing is scaring the hell out of me. Oh God, what if he collapses while we are in the mountains? I hand him the bottle of water again but he ignores it and reaches into the back seat for his hand luggage. I watch with a sense of relief as he removes a foil of pills and pushes one out and quickly swallows it. Beads of perspiration sparkle on his forehead and I exhale deeply when he relaxes his head back against the seat.

    ‘Do you feel better?’ I ask hopefully.

He opens one eye, looks at me and then closes it again. I pour the remains of the lemonade into a glass and knock it back. His breathing is still raspy, and I realise I have my hand on his knee. I debate whether I should move it and then decide it feels quite comforting and so leave it there. After what feels like an eternity his breathing becomes quieter and he seems to be sleeping. His hand has dropped onto mine and any plans I had of removing it are dismissed. I look at his face and feel my heart beat a bit faster. This is just so not good. Christian is the kind of man I have been avoiding for the past three years in a bid to find good husband material. Simon is exactly that, I remind myself and I must not do anything to spoil things. Christian is just a good-looking bad boy. His eyes open and I find myself looking straight into their deep pools.

    ‘Do we have any water?’ he asks quietly.

I slide my hand from under his and feel his fingers stroke it. I suppress a gasp and hand him the water.

    ‘Do you want me to drive?’ I ask casually.

He shakes his head. I pull the Rescue Remedy from my handbag and he grunts.

    ‘I certainly don’t want that.’

I unscrew the top.

    ‘It’s for me,’ I state, throwing the drops into my mouth.

    ‘Perhaps you would like the paper bag too.’

He is obviously feeling better and back to his old scathing self I see. Within minutes he has the car back on the road. He does not mention my hand on his leg and neither do I. In just a few hours I will be in Rome with my fiancé. I will say goodbye to Christian and never see him again. The thought depresses me and I reach behind for the bag of petits fours. I think of the wedding dress and throw it back. I then think of the string quartet and grab it again. I then curse and throw it back. Oh what the hell, one opera square won’t do that much harm, and besides I need the sugar lift. I grab the bag again and take an opera square for myself and a cream puff for Christian. Satiated,
I doze again. I awake to find we are in a car park. Christian is fumbling around in the back seat. I look at him sleepily.

    ‘Ah, you’re awake. There are toilets here and some shops. I thought we could get tidied up. We are a few hours away yet but we can’t be sure there will be another place to stop.’

I nod miserably. Oh God I don’t want to get there. This is terrible. I feel an overwhelming need to talk to someone. I follow him into the shopping mall and we head for the large supermarket but this time he does not joke about with the clothes but goes straight to the loo. I miserably head for the ladies and change out of my ripped jeans and don the white dress I had bought. I wrap a long cardigan around me and look in the mirror. My hair is still pulled up into the scrunch and I let it down, brushing it vigorously. My skin is glowing and I apply a small amount of blusher across my cheeks and am back in the store before Christian. I watch him come out of the loo. He is wearing jeans and a loose black sweater and I fight an impulse to pounce on him. My God, this is terrible. I am thinking about sex, and not sex with Simon. I am also thinking I really do not want to say goodbye to him. Oh God, if I could just get to know him a little better. Why now? I have been waiting to feel like this about someone for the past five years and he has to come along a few days before my wedding to someone else. He is walking towards me and smiling and visions of a quickie in the back seat enter my head and I can just tell he is thinking the same thing.

    ‘Good God no,’ I blurt out as he reaches me.

He stops in front of me, one hand loosely tucked in his jean pocket.

    ‘Do you always say no before you are asked?’ He grins at me.

I blush.

    ‘Yes, I mean no. I mean, is this particular case yes.’

He looks quizzically at me.

    ‘I was going to tell you about a wine-tasting event. It’s advertised over there. We are about five miles from it. It seems a shame to go past.’

He is looking into my eyes and I feel hypnotised. I guess it would not do any harm, I mean, we are late after all and it is better than having sex with him. I bite my lip and he looks hopefully at me.

    ‘I guess as we are already a bit late… and it’s better than…’ I stop quickly.