The High Life (The Mercury Travel Club #3)

Chapter Six Pretty Vacant

Patty opens the door with only a small grunt of a greeting.

‘The cava-fuelled conga fighting back?’ I laugh as she groans remembering it.

Despite both feeling slightly worse for wear, we’re off for Sunday lunch and a catch-up. Taking no chances, we’re walking to our local pub and as we set off from Jack’s house, I have to drag her away. They’re blowing kisses to each other until we’re thankfully out of sight.

‘Blimey you have got it bad.’

‘I have.’ She sighs. ‘But he’s funny, clever and totally devoted to me. I mean, what more could a girl want?’

‘Not much. Maybe a wine tap in the kitchen.’

‘His subscription to the Wine Club comes pretty damn close — there’ll be a case on the doorstep every month.’

‘Sold to the lady with the drink problem. Marry this man straight away.’

‘Well...’ says Patty, and links arms with me as we walk along. ‘I do have some news on that front. He wants us to get a house together and I’ve said yes. I know we haven’t been together long but it feels right, so I’ll put my place up for sale as soon as you’re ready and then we’re going to find something we both love.’

I don’t know what to say. The past few days have been quite bizarre and it all started with Patty coming home. At the time, I thought her return would mean things going back to the way they were.

‘Wow, that’s fabulous,’ I murmur. ‘Things are really changing aren’t they?’

‘But the changes are good, aren’t they? The new resort sounds fabulous. If you get it, you’ll be rushed off your feet with new customers. At least you’re going to be busy. I have absolutely no idea what I’m going to do now.’

‘I know we joked about it at the party, but don’t you just want to spend more time with Jack?’ I ask.

She shakes her head. ‘I’d love to but he’s really excited about the new post and even though he doesn’t start for another week, he’s always having impromptu meetings with his new boss. We’ve been back three days and I think I’ve seen you more than I’ve seen him.’

‘You could have stayed at home with him today, I wouldn’t have minded.’

‘No chance — he’s off again later today for some orientation session before he starts. He really cannot wait to get going,’ Patty says, shaking her head. ‘Nope, I have to find a new mission in life. You saw the panic in his eyes when he thought I might be at home moping all day.’

I’d like to bet she wouldn’t stay at home moping. If I know Patty she’ll be getting up to all sorts and begging me to join in. As much as I love her, I do have a business to run.

‘Then we’d better find you something quickly.’ I hope she sees my comments as the generous concern of a true friend rather than an act of self-preservation. ‘Any idea of what you’d like to do?’

Our walk takes us through the park where the candyfloss cherry blossom is in full bloom making this little suburban patch of green simply beautiful.

‘I could become a dog walker,’ she says on seeing someone handling four cockapoos.

‘You hate the cold,’ I remind her, nodding at her current ensemble.

She pulls her big coat tightly around her and snuggles into her scarf.

‘I’d only work summer.’

‘So precisely when people are prepared to walk their own dogs? Anyway, I can’t imagine you want to give up the world of entertainment completely. The hounds wouldn’t provide much of an audience unless you can teach them to howl in harmony.’

‘You could be right there.’

Leaving the park, we continue down a road of small businesses. Patty studies every shop sign we pass, searching for the solution to her unemployment.

‘A funeral home,’ she suddenly declares. ‘I’d never be out of work there.’

‘What on earth would you do?’

‘Well, people are having themed funerals now, aren’t they? Like an Elvis one — I could sing “Crying in the Chapel” or “Can’t Help Falling in Love”. I tell you there wouldn’t be a dry eye in the house.’

She has a spring in her step now and I can see she’s on a roll.

‘In fact there are loads of songs I could do. There’s the really weepy one, “Wasn’t Expecting That”. I can’t watch the video anymore as it has me in floods.

‘Plus all the classics — “Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door”, “(Don’t Fear) the Reaper”, oh, and “Seasons in the Sun”. That was so sad and everyone would know the words. The funeral parlour would need to order in extra tissues.’

She starts humming the chorus to the Terry Jacks classic.

‘I doubt there’d be applause at a funeral when you’ve finished,’ I remind her — ‘just a kind of awkward silence. Could you cope with that?’

‘Maybe not and with all that crying, my mascara would be all over the place. I can hardly come home to Jack every night looking like Alice Cooper. I’m not even sure I want to keep singing but what else can I do?’ There’s a brief pause before she adds, ‘I think I’ll phone Frankie to see if he has any ideas.’ Frankie is the talent manager who got Patty the gig on the cruise ship.

‘I thought he only did tribute acts.’

‘Oh no, he has fingers in more pies than little Jack Horner. There’ll be something for me.’

At that moment, the gastro pub we’re looking for appears, so I manage to avoid speculating on what that something might be. Patty, collar up against the relatively mild May weather today, rushes into the building. The pub has several stars to recommend it online and I’m struck by what makes a pub ‘gastro’. There is definitely a look. You have to have bare floorboards, a dullish paint colour and witty slogans on the wall. You also have to put herbs in vases and flowers in the salad. Somehow all of this reassures people that the rest of the meal will be good. I wonder if there’s an equivalent look for travel agents. Gastro-travel?

‘Are you going to gawp at the blackboard all day or can we sit down?’ she asks, reminding me that there’s also always a blackboard at these places.

I join her at the table and peruse the menu — while checking for the flowers, and sure enough they’re there. Not that either of us will be sampling them. Today is not a day for salad. Competitors were never conquered nor new vocations found through salad. We order two Sunday roasts (locally sourced, obviously) and a couple of glasses of pinot noir. Hair of the dog — it would be rude not to.

‘So,’ starts Patty wasting no time at all — her hands are folded in front of her as if she’s interviewing me. ‘Tell me what’s really going on with you and Michael. He seems really nice and from what I saw he’s completely smitten. Is it really all about the two houses having too many ghosts in the closets or is something else going on?’

I hesitate. I wasn’t sure whether I’d tell her any of this, but now that I’m here, I can’t help but think it would be good to talk this through with someone, someone who’s also just started a new relationship. I go for it.

‘It’s not that I don’t want to and you’re right, it’s not all about the houses or fearing you’ll jump out of the wardrobe.’

Patty says nothing but nods, encouraging me on. I take a deep breath and continue.

‘My body doesn’t look like it did when I was thirty or even forty,’ I spill out. ‘And it doesn’t look like any of those fifty-year-old celebrity bodies either.’

‘Neither will his,’ Patty says gently. ‘I think we all look better with our clothes on at any age.’

‘I certainly do,’ I say. ‘And my body doesn’t feel the same either — I just don’t get fired up the way I used to. So I just thought if I wait and create the perfect moment then, well, there’d be a distraction from what I look like and I’d find it easier.’

‘I understand. So what does perfect look like then? White linen, candles — that kind of thing?’

I shrug, slightly embarrassed by that clichéd vision but it is what I have in mind — definitely the low lighting.

‘And have you booked in your vajazzler?’

‘My what?’

‘You must have read about it, everyone’s doing it these days. It might have started with a few celebrities but that’s what any man would be expecting in the sack. You can’t roll up with your grey wire wool when he’s expecting rhinestone.’

I’m horrified and for the very, very briefest of moments believe her. However, she can’t keep a straight face to save her life and the rocking shoulders are giving it away. I thump her, then take a big glug of wine.

‘I’m terrified enough without worrying about that grey wire wool,’ I say, plucking up the courage to ask. ‘Seriously though, are we supposed to do something about it? Like dye it?’

‘What with?’ Patty says. ‘L’Oreal’s Just For Pubes?’

Of course our young waiter picks that exact moment to arrive at the table. The poor blushing lamb serves our meals and makes his escape as quickly as he can.

‘Because I have to ask you,’ continues Patty, ‘is he worth it?’

She swooshes her hair à la shampoo commercial and I have to laugh along. We try to change the subject while we tuck into our food and agree that, if we could only take one food to a desert island, it would be roast potatoes. Meal over, it’s back to business.

‘You know, there’s a danger of overthinking this,’ says Patty when the dishes are cleared away. ‘He’s smitten and you’re gorgeous as you are. If you wait for that “perfect moment”, it’ll never happen. Next time these sparks fly,’ she continues, ‘just go with it. See where it leads.’

‘I don’t know. There still might be new things he’s expecting that I don’t know about.’

‘Then you’re an extremely lucky woman and he is one lucky man. As I have lots of spare time at the moment, I will school you in the act of twenty-first century lurve...’

I don’t know what she says next. Patty is drowned out by my internal voices yelling, ‘Please nooooooo!’

I sincerely hope Frankie has a job for her, as this woman would be dangerous if left with time on her hands.

After the meal, I manage to wave Patty off before any further ‘help’ is offered, then head home. Climbing out of my day clothes into my slouchies, I take a quick look in the mirror at what Michael would have in store if we ever got that far. I breathe in and hold my boobs up. I do take care of myself so I suppose it’s not that bad if we manage to get undercover quickly.

As it’s Sunday night, Mum and I have our official Skype session with Zoe who has promised not to mention Friday night’s call in my mother’s presence. At seven o’clock on the dot, the doorbell rings and I let Mum in flustered and yelling, ‘I’m not late, am I?’ as she does every week.

‘No, as I keep telling you, we ring Zoe and I don’t do it until you get here, so you can’t be late.’

‘You say that but I’ve seen it on the news. There was this reporter in America hanging on in the background and the newsreader here was just carrying on their conversation not even knowing they had someone there.’

It’s sometimes, well, always, best not to argue with Mum. There is no logic to any debate she has. I simply fire up the tablet and place it in front of us then dial Zoe’s number.

‘Wait, my hair.’

Mum brushes her hair and quickly applies some lipstick. She looks at me. ‘Are you staying like that? Zoe’s always really smart.’

‘It’s Sunday night, I’m relaxing,’ I protest. ‘It’s two o’clock in the afternoon over there.’

‘You could still make an effort,’ she whispers. ‘No wonder she’s emigrated.’

‘Who’s emigrating?’ asks Zoe from the other side of the Atlantic.

My heart always skips a beat when I see my beautiful daughter’s face light up the screen.

‘No one, don’t worry. How are you, sweetheart?’

Zoe tells us she’s fine, and she certainly looks it with her lovely tan and beaming smile. This adventure in New York seems to be suiting her down to the ground. I couldn’t be more proud.

‘Zoe!’ yells Mum as if she has to cross the Atlantic with her projection. ‘Are my lips moving at the same time as I’m talking?’ She asks this at every session.

‘Yes, Gran—’ my daughter laughs — ‘and that lipstick colour looks lovely on you.’

‘Some of us care about our appearance,’ comes the murmured response and pointed glare. ‘Now how’s your James? And that hotel he’s building?’

‘Awesome, Gran,’ Zoe states and with one word expressed so enthusiastically, I can tell that they’re both really living the dream and getting cosy with the culture over there.

‘I have to admit I don’t see much of him. He’s like, so into his work, but I don’t mind at the moment because everyone wants a piece of him and it’s just brilliant.’

I nod sagely but leap in, glad to have at least one opportunity to dispense motherly advice.

‘That’s great and I’m glad you’re doing well too but you do have to find time for each other or the weeks will turn into months and you’ll have drifted apart.’

‘And your mother knows about things drifting apart,’ interrupts Mum as tactlessly as ever.

I glare at her. She is, after all, talking to my daughter about her parents’ break-up.

‘Make sure you have your date nights, put them in your phone to remind you,’ she continues. Mum is delighted when Zoe approves of the plan.

‘That’s not a bad idea, Gran. I’ll suggest it to him. He’ll be glad of an evening free of schmooze. So, anyway, what’s new with you?’

‘Patty’s back,’ I tell her. ‘And we’re thinking about expanding Mercury.’

‘Wow, Mum, that’s amazing. What kind of expansion? Would it be another shop? And what about...’

She stops just short of mentioning our conversation about the new competitor.

‘It’s more of an exclusive resort. I’ll say more in a few weeks,’ I add quickly. ‘It’s just an idea.’

‘One she hasn’t had the courtesy to run past me,’ huffs Mum while Zoe and I give each other a sneaky glance.

‘That’s obviously why I don’t want to say too much at this stage,’ I say.

‘Obviously,’ says Zoe, nodding. ‘Because when it comes to business expansion, Gran is as knowledgeable about that as she is about dating.’

‘Don’t you mock, young lady. Those dates will work.’

Zoe and I smile at each other. As soon as we get the prospectus I’ll call her without Mum in attendance. As a hotel manager, and now an international one at that, she’ll have some ideas about running a resort. Right now, she has to leave to get back to work, so we say goodbye and blow each other several kisses as usual. Of course I’m glad she’s doing well but I do miss my little girl.