Fur Coat No Knickers (20 page)

Oh God, well
… that’s it, he will never forgive me. I will probably never hear from him again.

As I stepped out of the shower and reached for one of the over-sized, white
, fluffy towels, I heard a text come through on my phone. Wrapping the towel around me in trepidation, I picked it up. Looking down at the screen, I gasped as I read: ‘
New message Travis
.’ My whole body trembled as I sat down on the edge of the loo once again. With my eyes half closed and holding the phone as far away as my arm could stretch, I pressed ‘read’.

[Text from Travis]

Lol. She needs to find herself a real man if she needs to fake. Meeting’s running over babe, not sure when I can get back. Miss you Xxx

‘There is a God. There is a God. Thank you, thank you!’ I screamed out loud and kissed my phone. I read the message again and took some deep breaths.

As I stood up to dry myself properly,
I realized all was going to be okay. He wasn’t angry and he’d completely believed my little white lie. Then I cursed, thinking about all the little super-duper-charged sperm swimming through the hotel pipes that I had scrubbed away. Well, hopefully one may have swam to the finish line in time.

After all that stress and
excitement, I was dying for a ciggy (or ten). Completely ignoring the ‘NO SMOKING -MAXIMUM PENALT
Y€
120’ signs, which seemed to be everywhere, I hung out of the window and counted my blessings as I puffed on my cigarette.
Perhaps I am a quick thinker after all.

After chain
-smoking a few cigarettes, I began to feel a little light-headed and restless. Now I knew I was in the clear, I really hoped that Travis’ meeting wasn’t going to run on for too much longer. I was desperate to spend as much time with him as possible before I went home. My flight was at 4pm, so we were already cutting it fine.

Waving as much
cigarette smoke out of the window as best I could, I slammed it shut, fastening the catch irritably.
What the feck was I going to do now?
I wondered, as I ambled aimlessly around the room, listlessly opening drawers and cupboards and peering inside. For the want of anything better to do, I took out my phone and began recording a video diary of the plush hotel room. I’d been begged by James and Siobhan to record the dirty details. I decided to begin where it all began, so I laid my now crumpled dress flat on the bed and started with a shot of the back of those awful fake-tan stains. After verbally pointing out the two brown titty circles, for good measure, I began the tour. I started in the bathroom, filming the huge, Victorian, freestanding bath; the ‘his and hers’ sinks and the sparkling shower unit.

‘Plenty of fluff, very high quality white towels
- right up your street James,’ I commented while filming myself in one of the large mirrors. ‘Oh wow, look at the beautiful dressing robes.’

I pushed my phone deep into the white pile showing off the embroidered castle logo.

‘Moving swiftly on, this is the lounge area.’ I stated, proudly trailing my hands over the dark red, soft leather Chesterfields strewn with raw silk scatter cushions laid out in perfect formation. 

I stopped
filming for a minute while I fiddled around with the TV remote. I was trying to locate the music channel on the huge plasma screen. I had to scroll through hundreds of channels before I got to it, but when I did, I was rewarded with my favorite song in the whole wide world ever; ‘Je T’aime’.
OMG - Je T’aime!
Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin bought the world to their knees when they released it in 1969.

I vaguely remember mum years later boasting to all our neighbours excitedly that dad being in the music industry had managed to get her an illegal
seven-inch vinyl. She was red-faced and sweating profusely clutching a ‘Learn French’ manual.

‘It was banned in England and Ireland years ago and now it’s been re-released,’ she whispered in a smug tone to a slightly nonplussed Mrs. Murphy.

‘Those French men,’ added Mrs. Murphy, folding her arms under her large breasts and raising her eyes skywards in mock disgust. ‘Dirty little feckers, so they are, sticking their tongues in your mouth when they kiss. Disgusting really when you think of those slimy snails and frogs they eat. Couldn't be very hygienic now, could it?’

‘But that’s the French for you
,’ added mum, ‘so bloody sexy - only they could get away with that.’

I turned the
volume right up as my thoughts plunged back to the past. I remembered when I first clapped eyes on the most beautiful, most perfect woman I had ever seen, Brigitte Bardot. I can vividly recall dad actually salivating watching a TV documentary about her and Je T’aime was the backing track. She was the epitome of sexiness and beauty. She had it all. I wanted to be her. It wasn't that I fancied her (well actually, if I ever was to become a lezzer, she’d be my type). I was just in awe of her stunning beauty
and
she just seemed to be idolised by all.

Seeing Brigitte Bardot on the TV as
when I was a schoolgirl meant that I decided not to throw myself in front of the no.10 bus after all. Instead, I decided to change everything about myself. I would start with my carrot hair. I had been dragged to enough Salons to witness mum having her tightly-wound perm and mile-high bangs to know anything was possible. I would tur
n
mysel
f
into a blonde bombshell.

I waited till the house was empty and I gathered my tools carefully. My attempt to create a
homemade hi-lighting cap involved; one Woolworth's carrier bag placed over my head, one strip of thick Sellotape (to tape the bag to my forehead) and one sharp, rust-free screwdriver (to prize areas of hair through that I wanted to be baby-blonde). Oh, and not to forget, one extra-large bottle of Co-op economy toilet bleach.

Sadly, instead of Bardo-esque blonde curls
(perhaps predictably) I ended up with a head of hair that represented all the colours of the Irish flag: orange, green and white. When I saw what I’d done, I was hysterical.

‘What in God’s name has the child done to her hair?’ Dad asked, horrified, as I passed out and tumbled down the stairs in mortification.

‘Lord have mercy,’ gasped mum, slapping one hand across her mouth and using the other one to cover over Laura’s eyes to shield her from the horror. ‘Am I hallucinating?’

No matter,
I thought, breaking my heart in the Salon chair as they clipped my mass of smoking burnt hair away. I had to shove mums knitted tea-cosy over my head.
It will grow back and there’s always a no.10 bus tomorrow.

As the song faded away, I snapped back to the present. Pressing the video icon on my phone, I resumed my diary.

‘And this is the friggin’ empty bed,’ I yelled, pulling back the heavily embossed gold throw and the crisp white sheets in sheer temper and frustration. ‘We should be Fifty Shading in this four-poster right now!’

With that, I flung myself backwards, flopping onto the large bed and moodily threw my phone at the chair.

After a while, I decided I couldn’t very well stay naked all day, whatever Travis had requested. I wasn’t used to spending this much time in the buff and was feeling a little self-conscious. Apart from anything else, it wasn’t doing my self-esteem any good, because every time I caught sight of myself in the enormous number of mirrors dotted around the place I felt compelled to look more closely at all my flaws and defects.

Eventually, I de
cided there was nothing for it. Tutting, I popped a hand towel around me. Travis wouldn’t mind. I was only dressed scantily.

Desperate to keep myself occupied, I started to pack my things away. At least that way, when he did return, we could use the time usefully.

Thinking about it, I realised that was part of the reason I was so on-edge (apart from the fact my lover had shagged me and gone off to a meeting) was that I knew I was on the precipice of something big with him. I didn’t want things to go back to the way it had been; where I spent my life simply waiting for text messages and barely speaking to Travis. Everything was different now. We had exchanged bodily fluids.
I mean, we could be pregnant.
We were in love. Travis even passionately shouted it to me mid-orgasm.

‘
Is that the sound of wedding bells?’ I giggled to myself, as I mentally relived the moment for the hundredth time. ‘Actually, imagine being
Mrs.
Travis Coleman.’

Just thinking about it gave me a warm, loved-up feeling. Then, my imagination racing, I hared off through my wedding day in my mind’s eye. I saw exactly how my wedding gown would look. It would be a white, fairytale
puffball that gathered underneath the bust line, ruched and with a full skirt, shaped beautifully by layer upon layer of organza, and a bustle on the back.
Yippee! It sounds totally like Cinderella already.
It wouldn’t be backbreaking with millions of Swarovski crystals, just a thousand or two, because I’d need to glide around effortlessly. I did have to remember that there was a strong possibility that I could be at least five months pregnant by then, so my huge dress would need to cover that fact while still making me look, dare I say it,
virginal.
Very clever of me really, thinking ahead like that.

Oh, and I want a towering tiara with a bling bouquet and three-inch bejewelled acrylic nails. The wedding cake would be, er
r… a castle! It could be covered in mini candles and have glittery mechanical butterflies and feathers sprouting everywhere. All tastefully done, of course. There’ll be nothing tacky allowed at my wedding, no sir-ee. God, I wonder if it would be possible to… I’ve got it… to have our wedding at Castle Clonarf! Jeez, I really think I’m in the wrong profession. I should be a wedding planner.

In my fabulous daydream I saw myself standing next to him at the altar
; Travis wearing an all-white, long-tailed tux and looking like my knight in shiny Armani. My mind wondered further and further. There would be white horses and carriages…

I wonder how he would propose? Would I give Hello magazine the contract or OK?

[Text from Travis]

Babe
, wont be back till 2. They have laid on a lunch. I’m so sorry, I will call you asap Xx

In an instant, my fluffy world fell apart.
The feckin’ bastard gobshite!

I had pictured Travis and I goin
g to the airport together, hand-in-hand, us both sobbing uncontrollably and having to be prized apart. Surely he’d remembered I had to leave to get my flight by 1:30 at the latest? He’d booked the feckin’ thing after all. I despondently put back on my tit-stained woollen dress, suddenly feeling quite low.

[Draft message to Travis]

Travis?? Where for art thou, Travis? Xx

[Delete.]

[Draft message to Travis]

I want to puke, maybe morning sickness? Xxx

[Delete.]

[Text to Travis]

Oh no. I won’t see you before I go. I have to get a taxi by 1:30 latest. Can you come to say goodbye. Properly? :-( X

I held my breath, waiting for the return text. But, nothing. I watched the hands of the large antique clock tick on, but my phone was silent. I couldn’t leave it like this. It just didn’t seem right.

[Text to Travis]

Please call me. I would just love to hear your sexy voice before I leave xx

Glancing at my watch, I held my breath as I waited for the return text. It was now 1:15pm and I knew I should be phoning reception to order a taxi, not staring at a blank screen. I felt like my oxygen supply had been cut off. I couldn't believe that one minute I’m practically babysitting our potential child, haggling vast amounts for our wedding pictures and dreaming about mechanical butterflies and in the next minute it turns out that I have… zilch, diddley-squat, niente.
Nothing
.

Bastard
!
I felt suddenly very hot and faint and couldn't stop the tears tumbling down my face. I rubbed my tummy and whispered to it in a huff: ‘Don't tell me you
and
your father are both going to be bastards?’

By
1:25pm I still hadn’t heard from him. Holding back the tears, I dialed zero and asked the very annoyingly cheerful receptionist to order me a taxi to the airport straight away. I picked up my bag and after one last glance around our love nest, I picked up his Castle Contarf dressing robe, inhaled his sexy scent from it, shoved it in my bag and walked out the door. Part of me still hoped that I’d see Travis running down the corridor in a last desperate bid to see me before I left. But no, the corridor was eerily quiet. I could hear some other guests chatting in the far distance and the low sound of the lift rumbling, but that was it.