Chapter 15
15
George woke up feeling freezing cold. Her head ached, one arm was stuck underneath her and she had pins and needles in her leg. She attempted to turn onto her side, but she couldn’t move. She was naked, covered by nothing but a silver tablecloth and she was surrounded by boxes. In fact, her foot was actually inside a box containing paper plates. Not a great look. She pulled it out and deposited a few plates onto the floor of the van as she did.
It was light outside. She could see the Union Jack waving from the roof of the Hexagon, against a cloud-ridden sky. She looked at her watch and saw it was almost 8.00a.m. She gently shook Quinn’s arm and he opened his eyes, smiling when he saw her.
‘Morning,’ he greeted, stifling a yawn.
‘It’s eight o’clock. I’ve got to get home,’ George told him, searching around in the debris of cardboard for some of her clothes.
‘No breakfast first?’ Quinn asked, stroking her arm.
‘There’s a café just down the street, does a great full English,’ George told him.
‘Who was talking about food?’ Quinn replied, pinning her down and rolling over on top of her.
George looked up at him and smiled. They had talked more than they had ever talked last night. She’d told him things about herself she had never told anyone. The twelve pack of lager had gone straight to her head and she’d relaxed enough to tell him all about her controlling mother, her dislike of red wine and her desire to be the best in the catering industry. And when they’d finished talking, he had undressed her so slowly, by the time she was naked, she was begging him to take her.
‘You’re insatiable,’ George told him as he pressed himself against her.
‘Ditto.’
‘I wasn’t like this until I met you,’ George answered.
‘I don’t believe it,’ Quinn said, kissing her.
‘You’d better go,’ George said, cupping his face with her hands.
‘Yeah, I’d better go. Toe the line, do as I’m told,’ Quinn answered with a sigh.
‘If it’s that bad, why do you do it?’ George asked him.
‘Because I don’t know how to do anything else,’ he responded.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘No, I know you don’t,’ Quinn replied.
He moved off her and began looking for his clothes.
‘But if you’re not happy…’
‘It isn’t that simple, OK. I can’t just up and leave; I just can’t,’ Quinn insisted, buttoning up his shirt.
George hugged the tablecloth to her, feeling colder than ever. She didn’t want to end their last night together like this. She didn’t understand, but she was in no position to question it.
‘I want your number,’ Quinn said, doing up his trousers.
‘My number?’
‘Yeah, your number. I want to call you, I want to text you, I want to speak to you in the middle of the night and tell you what I wish I was doing with you,’ Quinn told her.
‘Isn’t that dangerous? What if Taylor—’ George began.
‘Taylor’s my concern.’
‘I know, but…’
Quinn took hold of her hand and placed it on his chest, just like he had in Belch’s dressing room.
‘That’s what’s real: the way you make me feel. I’m yours,’ Quinn told her.
George swallowed and shook a memory from her head. Paul had always said those very words to her. For a second, the chain around her neck felt slightly heavier. Why did those age-old memories keep forcing themselves into her mind? She couldn’t keep holding onto the past like a crutch. She had a life to live and this time with Quinn had been living to the extreme.
She took hold of his hand and put it to her chest, squeezing it tightly in hers.
‘I’m only going to say it once, OK? So I hope you’ve got a good memory,’ George told him.
‘You have no idea.’
‘D’you know, I can’t make up my mind which is my favourite Quinn Blake song after last night,’ Marisa said as she iced fairy cakes for the teddy bear’s picnic later that morning.
‘Does it matter? Do you really need to know which is the sickest?’ Helen enquired.
‘Yes, Mother. I bet you can tell me your favourite Duran Duran song. Whoever they are,’ Marisa commented.
‘Well obviously that would be “Girls on Film” but…’ Helen began.
‘No way, “Rio” was much better,’ George interrupted .
‘God, you are both like sooo uncool,’ Marisa said with an exaggerated sigh.
George’s phone beeped as a text came through. She picked it up and saw it was from Adam.
Quinn B mentiond me in show last nite! Cant believe it!
George smiled. She wondered how he’d found out. She hadn’t had a chance to tell him. Perhaps one of his friends had been at the concert. She would ring him later, find out how he was and whether her parents were still there. She hoped they weren’t; her mother was smothering at the best of times but a thousand times worse when he was ill.
Her phone beeped again as a second text came through, this time from an unknown number.
Can still taste you Q x
Just reading the words made her blush and she looked around at Helen and Marisa, feeling immediately guilty.
‘Someone’s popular today. Either that or you’ve requested a ringtone and are now getting bombarded with texts asking you if you want to win ten grand,’ Marisa spoke.
George didn’t reply but sent texts back, first to Adam.
i know i was there so proud of you mum n dad still there?
And then to Quinn.
Ditto G x
She felt like she was sixteen again; it was fun, it was exciting and it was bad.
Her phone beeped again.
‘For God’s sake! Trying to like work here! Can you put it on silent?’ Marisa exclaimed.
They r leavin 2day speak soon sis x
‘Sorry! I’ll turn it off,’ George said about to press the off key.
It beeped again, Marisa let out a loud tut of disapproval and George read the message.
C u soon Q x
George smiled. He made her feel how she used to feel with Paul. Maybe she should have taken the job in Manchester. She could have had four more nights with him before he moved on to Glasgow. But then he might have asked her there too and where would it have ended? No, they needed some space. She needed to take a breath. It was all too intense too soon and he was getting married. She couldn’t forget that, no matter what he said.
The phone in the kitchen began to ring and Marisa put down her icing bag and went to answer it.
‘Don’t know why I’m bothering; it will be whoever’s texting you. Hiya, Finger Food – yes she’s here. Who’s calling? Taylor Ferraro? Oh. My. God. As in the Taylor Ferraro?’ Marisa exclaimed, her eyes bulging.
George suddenly felt sick. There could only be one reason Taylor Ferraro was on the phone. She knew. She knew about her and Quinn. She was probably going to arrange to meet and then murder her. She had seen the length of her nails; she did not want her eyes scratched at by them. This was a conversation that was going to end things with Quinn and probably earn her a reputation as a slut .
‘George! It’s Taylor Ferraro!’ Marisa said, holding out the phone dramatically.
George wiped her hands on a cloth and took the phone from Marisa. She had to be calm; she didn’t want Marisa and Helen knowing what was going on.
‘Hello, George Fraser,’ she greeted.
‘Hello Ms Fraser, it’s Taylor Ferraro. We met at the party last night.’
Today, her voice was more Joe Pasquale than Minnie Mouse.
‘Yes, we did. Hello,’ George replied with a swallow.
It didn’t sound like Taylor had spent all morning sizing up concrete boots. George only hoped she didn’t sound like she’d been performing fellatio on her fiancé.
‘Michael Lambert hasn’t stopped pressing your business card into my hand since last night, suggesting I employ you to cater my wedding,’ Taylor told her.
‘I see,’ George said not knowing what else to say.
‘I’m here at the Highgate Hotel until early evening. Would it be possible for you to make up, say, three menus, and bring some samples? I’d like some buffet options and a three-course suggestion,’ Taylor spoke.
‘Today?’ George said stupidly.
‘Yes, I’m here until six then I’m getting a flight to Manchester. Could you make that work?’ Taylor asked again.
‘Um, yes – I guess,’ George answered unenthusiastically.
‘Good. So shall we meet in the restaurant at four-thirty?’ Taylor suggested.
‘Forty-thirty,’ George repeated.
‘See you then,’ Taylor said, ending the call.
George replaced the handset and was greeted by curious looks from both her staff .
‘Well?! What did she want?’ Marisa demanded to know.
‘She wants Finger Food to tender for her wedding,’ George said almost choking on the words.
‘Oh. My. God! Quinn Blake’s wedding! Oh. My. God!’ Marisa said, looking like she was about to faint.
‘Oh George, that’s a massive contract. Her wedding is going to be the celebrity event of the year; all the magazines say so,’ Helen said.
‘I know, but she wants to meet me at four-thirty with sample menus and some food to taste. It’s a tall order. I don’t know if we can do it,’ George said.
She didn’t want to do it. She didn’t want to look into the eyes of the woman. She had slept with her soon-to-be husband over and over again. She didn’t know if she could sit across a table from her.
‘How about those menus you did for Lord Barrington’s wedding?’ Helen suggested.
‘Yeah, I guess,’ George answered.
‘What’s the matter with you? Don’t you want the job? This is the sort of job most caterers would like kill for. Like seriously…’ Marisa began.
‘Sick,’ Helen added with a proud smile.
Yes, Marisa was right; it was the sort of job most caterers would kill for. She should be lapping up this celebrity attention and thinking of the prestige and great fat fee at the end of it.
‘Yeah, I know. You’re absolutely right,’ George said a hundred different thoughts going through her head.
It was Quinn’s wedding; she was going to pitch to cater for Quinn’s wedding. It was the biggest opportunity of her career so far. She would be a fool to turn it down. This was the sort of break she had been looking for. This event could make Finger Food into an internationally renowned company. This could rocket the firm into the catering orbit she wanted to be part of .
‘Well let’s get those menus out and get preparing, shall we?’ Helen said, momentarily taking charge.
‘Yeah, let’s do that,’ George agreed, clapping her hands together.
She needed to try and get this contract. She had to do it, for so many reasons.