Chapter Eleven Secret Fear

Happy that our first day has definitely provided some unforgettable moments for the guests, we head to bed at around midnight. Patty and I are sharing a room and she’s as gleeful after her performance as my mum in a cake shop.

‘I’ve still got it, haven’t I?’ she yells from the bathroom.

‘The need to show off?’ I reply.

‘Star quality and that certain je ne sais quoi that keeps the crowds entertained.’

She emerges with her hands outstretched, ready to receive bouquets if anyone’s throwing. I throw a hairbrush, which she catches before bowing.

‘Well,’ I say, ‘I certainly ne sais quoi what you’ve got but it was a good laugh. It reminds people why Mercury is so unique. They won’t get that anywhere else.’

‘Are you going to hire me for every trip, then?’

‘That’s not what I meant. I was talking about the whole day: the art, the bike ride, the canal trip, the schnapps and then you of course. I mean it has been pouring with rain for most of the day but that’s not the bit you remember, is it?’

‘It certainly isn’t. What time are we on duty tomorrow?’

‘I need to be up for first breakfasts at seven but you can lie in if you like. I have to set an alarm though.’

I pick up my phone, which is completely dead and needs recharging. That explains why Charlie hasn’t called. He usually checks in at the end of the first day. I plug it into the charger and as soon as I have some juice, messages start to beep in. A voice message from Charlie checking everything is doodle-dandy (his words). I send him a text saying that in fact it’s all yankee-doodle-dandy à la mode. He’ll understand.

Then I spot Michael has sent me a picture message. It’s from the welcome dinner he mentioned. Everyone is dressed to the nines and he’s standing there beside a gorgeous Indian lady being given an envelope.

‘What is it?’ asks Patty and I show her the picture.

‘That’s a good-looking threesome,’ she says and I grab the phone back in despair. I check the time and as we’re an hour ahead, and he’s been out at this do tonight, he’s probably still up. The phone rings for a while and just as I’m getting my message ready, he picks up.

‘Hi there,’ he yells. ‘You rang! Are you having a good time?’

‘We are,’ I tell him, ‘and by the sounds of it so are you. Are you still at the dinner at this time of night?’

‘It’s kind of turned into a party now. I’ve just come out onto their balcony so I can hear you. Did you see the picture?’

‘I did, what happened?’

‘They gave us a little bonus for completing everything on time — the team were really chuffed.’

I can hear the smile still in his voice.

‘Who was the lady in the photo?’ I ask, trying to sound casual.

‘That’s Nimmi. She’s gorgeous isn’t she? And such a nice person. I wouldn’t be surprised if a couple of my team have the hots for her.’

‘Neither would I.’ I laugh. Well, I do that laugh thing which sounds and is completely fake, hoping Michael doesn’t feel that way.

‘Tell Patty that I have a treat in store for Jack,’ he continues. ‘The bonus was an all-expenses trip to Lords ― he’ll love it. It’s a fabulous ground.’

Before he’d mentioned the cricket ground bit, I’d envisaged us all trooping off to Lourdes and couldn’t imagine why Jack would be thrilled to go there unless he needed a miracle and wanted Patty to be blessed with some modesty. No chance.

‘I’ll tell her,’ I say as we say our goodbyes and I hear someone dragging Michael back to the dinner.

‘What will you tell me?’ asks Patty.

‘We’re going to see some men playing with their balls.’

‘So what’s new?’

And with that we both turn out the lights and snuggle down.

But I don’t sleep.

Or at least I don’t seem to.

I’m picturing Nimmi looking beautiful. She’s handing a cheque to some schoolchildren. Maybe that’s what she does all the time, hand things to people. She’s stunning and Michael’s whole team obviously thought so. I imagine that even in jeans and a jumper she looks effortlessly stylish. I then wonder what she wears to bed. I bet she doesn’t freeze at the crucial moment and I bet she doesn’t wear jammies.

2.40 a.m. Jeez, have I just spent all that time wondering what a woman I’ve never met wears to bed? When I have to be up in four hours looking fabulous for my own job? I flick back to Michael’s message and look at their smiling faces. I wonder if I should explain what I’m really scared of. I wonder if he’ll understand or just despair. I wonder if he’ll wait much longer. I never thought he might be surrounded by gorgeous women in his line of work. Would I wait if he told me he was afraid he couldn’t actually do it anymore? That’s stupid, it’s not the same thing at all...

I must doze off for a while because after seeing in 4.30 a.m., the next thing I know, the 6.30 alarm is going off. I reach out and switch it off, then get straight up in case I fall back to sleep. That was no way to prepare for a day of more art.

Today, it’s the Rijksmuseum for Rembrandt and then the Stedelijk for some modern art. I can’t bear the thought of being inside all day, especially not in a place that encourages contemplation. I get to breakfast before any of the guests and fill a mug of mind-blowingly strong coffee. I think this strength was meant for an espresso cup but it does the job. I smile and make polite conversation with everyone. Patty gets a round of applause when she enters the breakfast room. Well, she stands in the doorway until people start to notice that she’s there and then they take the hint. Boy, am I going to need her today.

‘Let’s get this over with then,’ she says. ‘The sooner we’ve appreciated the art, the sooner we can get back on the schnapps.’

I reassure my guests that today will be a calm and cultured day. I can see some very tired people and I can’t imagine more than a few of them spending a night dancing in a drag club before this trip. Anyway, we have one of Amsterdam’s top restaurants booked for our final meal together. I just have to stay awake that long.

Vermeer must have been a funny old soul. He certainly wasn’t one of those artists you struggled to understand. He didn’t paint huge blocks of purple and call them something obscure like Passing the Salt. His paintings — The Milkmaid, Woman Reading a Letter, View of Houses in Delft — yep, they pretty much do what they say on the tin. The only one I know (Girl with a Pearl Earring, obviously) isn’t here, but even if you hadn’t known what it was about, you could have guessed from the name. It’s almost as if he just kept painting and at some point, someone told him that he had to name them. Being an artist he found this a ludicrous idea, so he just pointed at the pictures lying around his studio. ‘Right then,’ he probably said, ‘that one’s “girl in a red hat”, that’s “girl in a blue dress” and that one’s “woman with a jug”.’ In my imagination he has a very broad Yorkshire accent.

Anyway, the classics done, we head to be dazed and confused at the Stedelijk. Actually, I quite like some modern art, especially sculpture. I always visit the Tate Modern if I’m in London, although in fairness that’s because of the cocktail bar on the top floor. It has one of the best views of the Thames ever. I’ve read that this Dutch gallery has an extension that looks like a bathtub and as we approach it, that’s certainly what it looks like from one angle. From another it looks like a spaceship hovering above the ground.

‘This is probably what they call bold architecture,’ says one of the guests and we all nod in quiet agreement.

I send the guests off with a guide and take a seat with Patty in the huge atrium.

‘Please tell me that’s not modern art,’ she says, nudging me. I look up and laugh.

‘No, I think that’s genuinely a mop and bucket.’

A cleaner comes and takes them both, much to our relief.

‘I had to get you smiling somehow,’ says Patty. ‘What’s up?’

‘Just tired. I didn’t sleep much.’

‘I wasn’t snoring, was I?’

I let out a little snort. ‘Yes but it wasn’t that. I was just thinking about Michael.’ I cannot confess my imaginings even to Patty.

‘Bless, love’s young dream. He sounded like he was having a good enough time without you though.’ She laughs. ‘Fancy him winning a trip to a cricket ground and still seeming delighted with it. He’s not hard to keep happy, is he? Still, it’ll be nice for us all to get away for a weekend together...’

I smile, bury my head in the guidebook and try to ignore Patty’s musing. A weekend away, for all four of us, where Patty and Jack will be all loved-up and we’ll be in double rooms no doubt. We’ll leave them after dinner and they’ll be snogging like kids in the lift while I panic that it’s all going to go horribly wrong again.

‘Are you listening to a word I’ve said?’

I’m not. I’m thinking that Michael is a wonderful guy who doesn’t seem to want to give up on me, not like my ex. He gave up pretty damn quickly.

‘Come on, girl. What’s up? Tell Aunty Pats.’

I inhale and go for it: ‘I did what you suggested before we came away. You know, I tried to go for it.’

‘Go on.’

‘It’s like, I can’t wait to get my hands on him but then when it gets to the moment, my body seems to seize and put up a “Do Not Pass Go” sign. The more I try to get things flowing, the worse it gets. I know you laugh but I really think I’ve forgotten how to.’

Patty nods. ‘Juicy Lucy has left the building.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Hormones,’ she says. ‘They play havoc at this stage in our lives.’

‘Did this happen to you?’

Patty nods. ‘Oh, yes, and I’d had a five-year leave of absence before Jack. Imagine that. It was like rolling a stone from a long disused cavern. It was like stoking an old boiler. Mind you, it’s roaring now.’

I don’t laugh at her attempt to humour me. She gives me a hug then rummages in her bag and hands me a card.

‘There are things you can do. When you’re ready, take a look at this.’

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