Crystal Balls (27 page)

“Nofin, sno me, s’everyone else,” I tell him matter of factly.

All I was trying to do was look out for my sister and give her the chance to take a moment out to reflect on the day. It was hardly an act of evilness. So why won’t anyone believe that my
heart was in the right place when I did it?

“Fink maybe shou gobed now.”

Simon leads me from the dance floor, his arm gripped tightly around my waist, the other under my armpit. Kate rushes over to join him and the two of them carry me upstairs.

My head hits the pillow and the room spins around like an out-of-control fair ride. I try to move but my body is pinned down. I can hear the voices of Kate and Simon but can’t make out
what they’re saying or doing, which for some reason disturbs me. I try to call them but my mouth is glued together and a coma-like state sweeps over me, taking me with it deep into the
night.

Why couldn’t I have just kept my mouth shut . . .

The light practically blinds me as the curtains are roughly pulled back and my eyes squint with discomfort. The open window allows some much-needed fresh air to ventilate the
stuffy room and a light wind wafts around me, its tender whispers slowly easing the throbs in my pounding head.
Why are hotel rooms always so bloody
overheated?

“Coffee?” Simon chirps.

What the . . . ?

He’s fully clothed and definitely showered. I can smell a sweet wetness seeping from the bathroom. I struggle to push myself up after being dormant for so long. I muster my strength, using
my elbows as props, until inch by inch I’m upright against the rock-hard pillows.
Maybe
they’re the reason for my aching head!

“What the hell are you doing here?” I growl, pulling the covers around my chest and surveying the room for signs of any untoward business. I spot the bridesmaid dress in a heap on
the floor and my stomach heaves as I shake my head in sheer disbelief. “No. No way.” My voice breaks as I stare at the dress staring back at me but giving nothing away.

Simon takes a noisy slurp from his cup before setting my coffee on the bedside table next to me. He looks at the dress and grins at me, winking.

“You gave me no option, Tina.” He holds up his hands in a position of surrender. “I tried to fight you off but your advances were just too much for a single guy. But
don’t worry,” he goes on, deadpan. “Your secret is safe with me. Or should I say
secrets
!”

“Secrets?”

“Yeah, secrets. Don’t you remember telling me how much you liked me last night? In fact, you were all over me on the dance floor.” His voice breaks with laughter.
“Literally!”

I peer under the covers to see that my underwear in still intact and my stay-ups have done their job wonderfully and stayed up, although being horizontal for the guts of eleven hours they were
unlikely to do anything else. Holding the duvet back to my chest with a protective hand, I roll down each stocking one by one, tackling it as far as my arm will extend – then, using my feet,
I scrape at them carelessly until freed. Each thigh has deep indentations from the tight elastic and my legs look like a series of crop circles have been drawn on them. I give them a vigorous rub
to improve the blood flow but know that getting out of bed is the only practical remedy.

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” I bark at Simon, throwing the covers back, revealing my scantily clad body and mottled thighs.

This bold move was supposed to intimidate him and have him make gentlemanly apologies, quickly turning to allow a lady a little modesty. But Simon just watches with obvious pleasure, refusing to
budge. I feel his eyes scanning every part of me and my ploy to rattle him has pretty much backfired. I’m the one left feeling shy and flustered.

“Here!” he reluctantly concedes, throwing a heavy towelling bathrobe over to me before collapsing on the bed, fresh coffee on the bedside table and the remote control at the ready.
“Let me know if you need a hand with showering, won’t you!” he calls as I slam the bathroom door, locking it and yanking down the handle to ensure I’m safe.

“My Rolex!” I yell through the door. “Where is it?” No answer. I yank the door open to confront him. “Where is my Rolex, please?” I ask as sweetly as
I’m capable of right now.

“Tina, I wouldn’t know a Rolex from a Timex!” Simon sniggers. “You’re talking to the wrong man there.” He lies back on the bed, no doubt fuelled with impure
thoughts and throbbing loins for the second time.

“To Mr and Mrs Heath-Jones!”

We salute the happy couple as they at long last join us for a farewell lunch before jetting off to Bali on a three-week honeymoon. What I wouldn’t give to lie on a beach for three weeks,
drinking cocktails and soaking up the sun! Pure heaven!

Apparently Kate and I talked about reliving our holiday in Crete last night. Naturally, I have no recollection of it but am still up for it and right now I could do with getting away. Although
there are a few things I need to put to bed first.

My dad puts his arm around me tenderly. “What happened to you last night, Tina? You’re normally first on and last off the dance floor.” He shakes his hips in jest, waving his
arms in the air, mimicking me. He’s in good form today.

“Are you still drunk, Dad? And someone please tell me I don’t dance like I’m about to take off?”

“You dance, Tina?” Simon joins in. “I thought you just clung to strange men on the dance floor?”

My dad looks at Simon and laughs. He’s very fond of Simon – at least my mother said so. Not that he’d ever try the matchmaking thing with me, he knows better, and to be honest
my own taste in men is so inconsistent that most people gave up trying to help me years ago.

“You two did look pretty intimate with that first dance,” Dad braves it.

“
Dad!
”

“I was holding her up, Martin, that’s why!” Simon chortles and my dad joins in.

I glare at the pair of them, holding my head in pain and trying to catch Sam’s attention out of the corner of my eye. She sees me staring at her and her eyes soften instantly, making mine
water with remorse. We need no words to make conversation right now. She knows how sorry I am and I know she’s slowly coming around.
Thank you, God.

“Pleased to meet you,” I say for the fourth time in the space of a few minutes. “It looks like everybody’s here so let’s press on. Feel free to
interrupt me at any point with your questions.” I smile sincerely at the small but very lucrative group of viewers all anxious to put holding fees on the apartment of their choice but not
without the opportunity for closer inspection. This show apartment will have them eating out of my hands. “Each apartment is a minimum of two thousand square feet spread over split
levels.”

I put the key card in the door of the impressive prototype, stepping back to allow them to enter while I follow. “As you can see the open-plan spacing is ideal for both family living and
social gatherings, and with a view like that,” I gesture to the full-length glass windows overlooking the river Mersey, “you need never leave the comfort of your own home.”

“It’s hardly the Caribbean!” someone pipes up.

“Not quite,” I agree amiably. “But does the Caribbean house the world’s most famous yellow submarine?”

He laughs and the rest join in.

We move around the show apartment while I talk them through the hand-made kitchen with built-in appliances and granite worktops. The fully tiled oyster bathroom with mini-bar and plasma TV goes
down a storm.

“Each room contains one or more speakers discreetly placed, allowing you to control the sound level from that room or from the master keypad, which is located in the master bedroom.”
God, I’m envious.

Reaching behind the heavy silk curtains, I pull out a slim remote from its walled bracket. Clicking a single button, I stand back to watch a piece of automated heaven as the cyber home cinema
screen rolls into place. Pure silence. “The screen is six feet wide and seventy-seven inches diagonally,” I tell them excitedly. “This room has four speakers to maximise the
surround-sound field and a sub-woofer to help with those lower frequencies.”

I haven’t a clue what it means but I imagine most of the blokes here will find it impressive.

We finish with the communal gym in the basement and it is clear to see the guys are totally impressed.

“What did you say the ground rent was?” I recognise the lady speaking but I just can’t pinpoint where. Somewhere on the television though.

“It’s twelve hundred and sixty pounds a year,” I reply. “Which isn’t bad considering the level of maintenance required.” She nods, giving nothing away.

A recognisable voice pipes up breathlessly. “Am I too late for the viewing?”

“Kate?”

Kate marches up to the rest of the group, recognising some of them. She exchanges polite kisses on both cheeks with a number of them.

“We’re just finishing up here but if you give me five minutes I’ll show you around,” I tell her formally.

“Okay.”

We finish up with the obligatory question and answer session and all the while my fingers remain crossed behind my back.

This morning has gone well. Really well, in fact. I’m a great one for intuition when it comes to business and I’d safely say that three out of the four will buy in. The moaning guy
I’m not too sure about, he may have been along for the ride. Who was he anyway? Nobody I recognised.

As the last of the guests leave, Kate turns into the Kate I know and gives me a great big bear hug accompanied by a sloppy kiss.

“You’re a bad girl, Tina!” she says, wincing.

“What did I do?”

“You got so pissed at your sister’s wedding you missed half of it, you dope!” She wanders off into the kitchen area, opening and closing every door before nosily shoving her
head inside for microscopic inspection. “Simon and I had to carry you upstairs.” She presses the ice machine to see if it works and pieces of crushed ice fly past her onto the floor
below.

“Here, I’ll clean that up.” I’m glad of the distraction.

“He’s a nice guy,” she adds dismissively, running her hand along the smooth surface of black granite. “Not your usual type, Tina, but he’s definitely got the hots
for you.”

I carry on drying the floor although I’m keen to hear more about what they talked about while I was slipping under.

“Kate, he’s practically my brother-in-law and besides,” I push myself up from the floor, “he’s a scruffy little sod who doesn’t know the difference between a
Timex and a Rolex!” I laugh, remembering how stupid his comment was. And possibly how deliberate it was. The guy drives a Porsche for heaven’s sake! Bloody hypocrite.

“Stop being so shallow.” Kate stares at me harshly. “I know you too well, Tina Harding. Now where do I sign?”

“Sign?”

“I’ll take one.” Kate beams at me proudly as she pulls her cheque book from her very real Gucci bag.

“What?” I stand back, flabbergasted. “I thought you were here to give me a lecture?”

“I am but I also need a place to live when I come home.” She shrugs, matter of fact. “I’m sick of hotels and my mother wants to fatten me up when I stay with her and my
dad. It’s about time I had my own place here.”

I don’t know what to say for once. “Don’t you want the full tour?”

Kate shakes her head. “My agent sent me a brochure and I’ve read the spec list a thousand times.”

“Wow, Kate, I had no idea you were doing so well,” I say quietly. “I’m made up for you.” Kate takes in my pensive expression and grips me tightly. “Tina,
I’m paid a shitload of money for being blonde and thin. I was in the right place at the right time and the minute I gain a few pounds or start to age I’ll be coming to you for a
job!”

We burst out in laughter, knowing full well that Kate and administration don’t go very well together.

“I did the right thing, didn’t I, Kate?” My bottom lip begins to quiver. “It’s just that sometimes, lately, I feel like a total failure. I’m all over the
place.”

“
You
are the real worker of us, Tina, not me. You have it all.” Kate’s voice is pure and sincere. “You’re gorgeous, clever, determined and a great
friend.”

I stare at the floor for a moment before looking up with deliberate puppy eyes. “Is that it?”

Kate slaps me on the arm. “Stop being so bloody insecure!”

Now I have a reason to be jealous!

Chantelle is deep in conversation with a middle-aged couple, showing them a series of executive properties on the laptop. They look extremely wealthy but then again, with
Chantelle’s aristocratic looks, so does she. I notice a bling ring on the woman’s finger and am desperate to ask if it’s real but they’re deep in conversation. Chantelle
sits back, waiting patiently for them to decide which of the properties they’d like to view. I smile at her, tilting my head, gesturing for her to come over as soon as she’s finished. I
can’t wait to tell her the good news.
All four
of the guys this morning want the properties.
My mobile phone rang incessantly within an hour of them leaving but the fifth
contender, now that was a surprise, but Kate swears she told me on Saturday night that she was interested. She currently has a one-bedroom flat in London which has seen a significant rise in value
since she bought it five years ago but she now wants a base in her home town. I can’t help thinking it should be me!
It
should bloody well be me!
I would kill for one.
Literally. But even though I’ve turned a shade of envious green, I am pleased for Kate. She does deserve it. She words hard, looks after her parents and is a loyal and honest best friend.
She’s slightly disturbed at times but that’s what I love about her. On the bright side, consider the parties we can have when she comes home! We can invite the celebrity neighbours and
their rich friends across. We can sup on mini-bottles of Veuve Clicquot with little black straws and order in caterers to deliver fancy hors d’oeuvres. Or ‘horses’ hooves’
as Kate and I call them. I pick up a little at the thought of fun-filled nights in the docklands followed by healthy mornings in the gym. A lifestyle one can only dream about because so few are
rewarded with such benefits from life. I think about the amount of money I used to make from various acting and modelling jobs. It was exorbitant but the problem was it was just like the buses
where all the work came together and you spent the following six months surviving on it while you worked your butt off desperately hoping for your next big break. Sometimes I miss it, sometimes I
don’t, but as for having a real opportunity to get cash rich, unless I get my skates on and open a dozen Harding Homes over the next few years, which is unlikely, I’m beginning to think
I’m in the wrong job.