The High Life (The Mercury Travel Club #3)

Chapter Nineteen Home Sweet Home

On the day that I get the deeds for my new flat, I’m wrapping up my wine glasses (I had to leave them till last, obviously) in pages of the local paper when I spot a photo. Bloody Lorenzo shaking hands with the sales manager of a local football team. He won their fan travel contract this week. We went for that business but he beat us on price, yet again. We offered a fabulous deal that wouldn’t have made much money, so I truly don’t know how he managed to undercut us. The team did offer us the chance to bid again but we’re already losing too much money because of him. I hate losing out to him even when walking away is the best thing to do. At least it’s not a premiership team. I’m still annoyed by everything he does but I can’t let him get to me today. There has to be at least one thing in my life that Lorenzo can’t ruin. The flat will be my sanctuary, the one place he can’t get to me. And as there’s a video intercom on the door, I can even keep Mum and Patty out should I need to.

Having waited so long for this day, when it finally arrives, it has taken me by surprise. With so much focus on the second-stage island bid and the everyday battles with Launch, the day of the house move managed to sneak up on me and when I read my calendar entry for this week — NO LONGER HOMELESS! — I had to double-check that everything was really in place.

The removals company arrived on time and managed to extradite me from Patty’s with ease and so having blown her a final goodbye kiss, I’m actually on my way.

My new place is an apartment in a gorgeous converted mansion house. As I drive through the grounds towards it, the sense of excitement I felt when I first viewed it a few months ago surges through me. I didn’t want to have to find a new place to live after the divorce and somehow nothing felt right. I searched so many different types of house, then I found this place and it was perfect. It said ‘new start’ and was so different from my family home that I knew if I moved here, I’d definitely be starting afresh. Gone are the neat lawns, flowerbeds and hanging baskets that I consistently failed to look after, here I have communal grounds. They’re perfect for a deck chair and a Pimm’s but they’re maintained by a team of professionals, so I don’t even need a pair of gloves. Hurrah!

My old family kitchen was a hotchpotch of crockery and cookware collected over the years. The plentiful cupboards were filled with gadgets and recipes I’d never, ever get round to attempting. Nonetheless, I’d held on to them convinced that one day I would become Manchester’s answer to Nigella. Of course it was never going happen, so they were one of the first things to be thrown away in the clear-out. The only gadgets in my new kitchen are a built-in wine cooler and the fanciest of microwaves. This kitchen was built for someone who eats not cooks, and I love it.

I’m just dying to show this place off to someone, so I check the time and then Skype Zoe who will just be starting her day. I hold the tablet up and scan the room to show her.

‘It’s fabulous. Honestly, Mum, that kitchen is so you, absolutely not designed for cooking. Now show me the rest.’

Delighted that she’s as excited as I am, I take my tablet into the granite bathroom.

‘Wow,’ says Zoe, ‘a wet room. It’s stunning.’

‘Your gran is horrified by the idea,’ I tell her. ‘She kept yelling “but there’s no curtain, it’s just not right”. I had to promise to lock the door every time I’m in.’

We laugh and I walk us into my new huge bedroom, which overlooks the grounds and makes me feel like the lady of the manor.

‘Now this room just cries out for a four-poster,’ says Zoe.

I’ve brought my own bed out of storage as I bought it a year ago, but maybe Zoe’s right and I should just abandon it and get a four-poster.

I put that idea on my mental to-consider list and move on to the spare room.

‘And this would be your room for when you come to stay. Obviously I’ll have moved the boxes by then, so there’ll be plenty of room for you and James.’

‘It looks fabulous, Mum,’ says Zoe, ‘it really does. You so deserve it and I can’t wait to visit.’

It warms me to hear her say that. She was very upset when the family house sold and although she’s making her own way now, I want her to feel that she always has a home with me. I haven’t told her this yet but I did keep all of her teddy bears from the old house, so when she does come to visit she’ll find them lined up on the bed like they always were. She’ll probably die with embarrassment.

After we’ve said goodbye, I sink down into my new sofa — delivered bang on time — and silently scream with excitement. I’m finally here! This move feels like the end of one journey and the beginning of another and I have to mark this occasion appropriately. I head back into the spare room and start digging through the boxes stacked up there. Eventually I find what I’m looking for: the cut-glass trophy Mercury won for the People’s Champion Award. I take it out, give it a quick wipe with my sleeve then place it right at the centre of my mantelpiece. I sit back and look at it. Less than six months ago we were at the top of our game — getting rave customer reviews and selling out every trip we created. I dreamed of winning that award and then bringing it back to a place of my own. I’ve achieved both now and am newly filled with resolve. That man won’t take our customers from us — Charlie and I have worked too hard to let that happen.

Having taken this Friday off, I have the whole day to myself and spend the next two hours unpacking, cleaning and making my new place a home. When I’ve done as much as I can, I realize my stomach is rumbling. It’s nearly eight o’clock and I think I deserve a break. I have a shower in my new fabulous wet room using the gorgeous new toiletries bought especially for tonight. There will be no bargain-bucket shower gels in this place — colour co-ordinated Molton Brown body washes and lotions only. Feeling soft and silky, I put on a new kimono and do a twirl. I look the part. In my mind, I’m the poster girl for go-getting independent women and I start belting out the only words I can remember to ‘I’m Every Woman’ (which is effectively the chorus). I uncork a bottle of sauvignon blanc and search for a takeaway menu on my phone. Just then the door intercom buzzes and I jump before I realize what it is. My first visitor.

I pick up the receiver and see Michael waiting by the front door. I take a deep breath. At least I look fabulous. I buzz him in and wait nervously as he finds his way up. His hands are full with flowers, champagne and, knowing the route to my heart, a takeaway of Thai green curry and sticky rice.

‘Thought you might like a housewarming meal,’ he says. ‘You look amazing.’

‘Thank you,’ I say, kissing him. ‘A tall, handsome man as my first visitor, isn’t that good luck?’

‘Only at New Year I think but a new start probably counts. You smell gorgeous too.’

I lead him into the kitchen and while he’s opening the champagne, I put the cork back into the wine I’ve just opened (aah — that’s why people have bottle-stoppers, for when a better bottle comes along). He hands me a flute, which I sip flirtatiously and he drinks his rather too quickly. He looks like an anxious puppy dog about to get a juicy bone. If he hasn’t got one already.

‘Shall we start with the guided tour?’ I ask. He just nods and tops up the drinks.

We take our champagne glasses and I start by leading him to the window, pointing out the extent of the grounds. Michael politely asks a whole range of questions I have no chance of answering. I promise to introduce him to the gardener when I meet him. We then move through each room on the ground floor with me demonstrating all my new gadgets and him murmuring his approval. The tension is building. My room is on the mezzanine level, up a small flight of stairs, and as I lead him up, my heart starts to race with expectation. I replay the day in the furniture shop when we said all we were waiting for was for me to have my own place. Well, I’m here now.

We finally enter the bedroom and I try to make light of things. ‘And this luxurious space is the boudoir for the lady of the manor,’ I say.

‘Very fitting.’ He sits on the edge of the bed and pats the space beside him. Nervously, I sit down and we clink glasses.

‘A beautiful room for a beautiful woman,’ he says.

I’m sure he must be able to hear the thudding beat from my chest. My mouth is dry and I don’t feel at all ready for the kiss I know is coming my way.

Suddenly, I feel thirteen years old again, getting ready for my first real kiss from Gary Marshall. I didn’t want him telling all the boys I had a mouth as dry as a bin of pencil shavings but didn’t want him to see me wetting my lips either. I learned the difference between boys and girls at that moment. As I was struggling to make myself more luscious, licking my lips as discreetly as I possibly could, he pulled his sleeve down his arm and dragged it across his mouth before asking, ‘Ya ready?’

Not that this scene bears any resemblance to my old schooldays. Michael is making every effort to create the perfect moment he knows I’ve been dreaming of. He takes another sip of champagne and I do the same, then, just like a scene from a movie, Michael leans forward, kissing me and simultaneously putting our glasses on the bedside table. He places his hand on the small of my back and gently lowers me down.