Chapter 25
25
When he came to, he was laid on a chaise longue with Dr Nigel Collins peering at him through his half-moon glasses. He tried to sit up but was rapidly pushed back down again and a glass of water was summoned.
‘What happened?’ Quinn asked the doctor.
‘One of your attacks. I thought these new pills were keeping things under control! I mean, right in the middle of the introductions!’ Roger boomed with a snort.
‘You were out for almost ten minutes,’ Dr Collins informed Quinn, handing him the glass of water.
Quinn propped himself up and took a drink. His head was aching and his vision was blurred. He’d seen George looking like she wanted to smash his face in when he’d given his upbeat announcement about the wedding festivities. He’d wanted it all to be over so he didn’t have to stand in line with Pixie, Roger and Taylor, like some sort of weird barber shop quartet. The black cloud had descended over him, strangling his brain and tightening his chest and the last thing he remembered seeing was the mad Welsh girl flapping her hands about.
George hadn’t eaten. She had ordered a Spanish omelette, but had just pushed it around her plate, pretending that constituted eating .
The restaurant they had chosen was in the nearest town to the golf resort and was extremely lively. Shortly after their plates were cleared, loud flamenco music had begun and diners had started to dance with each other anywhere they could find a space.
George wasn’t in the mood for people laughing and being happy. She was concerned about Quinn. The lunch they had shared together now seemed like it had happened in another lifetime.
She had looked at her phone constantly during the meal and she was looking at it again now. She wished he would text her, just to let her know he was OK. She didn’t want to text him. She was never the first to text. She was too afraid he might be with Taylor, or Roger, or anyone else who shouldn’t know. Basically anyone and everyone.
‘Come on Marisa, let’s show them how it’s done,’ Adam suggested and he stood up from the table and held his hand out to her.
‘What? Like dance?’ Marisa exclaimed with a nervous giggle.
‘Yes, dance. Come on, everyone else is doing it,’ Adam said, indicating the throng of people who seemed to be performing a mixture of flamenco and ceroc.
‘Yeah, I know, but like I’m not very good at this sort of dancing,’ Marisa said, her cheeks reddening.
‘Well, we don’t have to do what they’re doing. We can make up our own moves,’ Adam suggested, winking at her.
‘All right then, but the second you like step on my feet, I’m sitting straight back down,’ Marisa told him, taking his hand and letting him lead her to the nearest empty space.
George didn’t even notice them get up. She was too preoccupied, hoping that at any minute, her mobile was going to announce a text from Quinn .
‘Are you expecting it to ring? Because they don’t if you stare at them too long. It’s a bit like a watched kettle never boiling,’ Helen remarked.
George looked up at her. Only then did she realise she was gripping her phone so tightly, it could crack at any second.
‘No, no, not really. Sorry,’ George said, putting down the phone and picking up her glass of wine.
‘Is everything all right, George? You’ve been a bit distant all evening. Is it your mum? Are you worried about her?’ Helen asked.
‘No. No, she’s fine. She’ll be bossing her sister around by now,’ George answered quickly.
‘Are you sure that’s all? I mean, it’s only since we arrived here that the scale of the event has hit me. Did you see the press outside and the roving reporters in the complex?’ Helen asked.
‘Yeah, I did. I suppose I’m just a bit worried about being introduced to the catering wagon tomorrow. Not to mention meeting the other staff,’ George responded.
‘Well if that’s it, you can stop worrying right this minute and have another glass of wine. With all those people helping us, it should end up being the easiest function we’ve ever catered,’ Helen reassured her.
‘Yeah, I guess,’ George remarked with a sigh.
‘He didn’t look comfortable on that stage tonight though, did he?’ Helen said.
‘Who?’ George asked.
‘Quinn Blake. He didn’t look much like a man happy to be getting married in my opinion,’ Helen continued.
‘Well, he obviously wasn’t feeling very well,’ George reminded.
‘I suppose not,’ Helen mused.
‘Look, I’m just going to get some fresh air. This music and the heat’s giving me a headache,’ George said, standing up and heading for the door .
All the Spanish guitars and loud stamping weren’t helping her state of mind either. She needed to speak to Quinn or she was going to be distracted for the rest of the evening. She didn’t know whether she was doing the right thing, but it was the only thing she could do. She sat on the low wall outside the restaurant and typed out a text.
R u ok?
She pressed send and her mobile confirmed the message had gone.
The humidity was still intense even in the late evening and the streets of the town were alive with people, some browsing gift shops, others stopping at bars for a drink.
She waited. He could still be unwell, or he might not have his phone with him. Anything could have happened; he could even be at the hospital. That thought really worried her and her anxiety was heightened by the fact she had no right for all this concern.
She looked back into the restaurant and saw Marisa and Adam trying to copy the flamenco moves of a middle-aged couple next to them, who seemed to be experts at it. Marisa was laughing hysterically and Adam was smiling more broadly than she had ever seen him smile before. She hadn’t meant to be so harsh with him earlier, especially when he was confiding in her. She would have to talk to him again. He needed her to be a sister, a confidante, not a control freak. Who did that remind her of?
Her phone beeped with a new message and she quickly opened it, relieved to see it was from Quinn.
I’m OK did u like bikini? Qx
George smiled as she read it, so glad he had answered.
Its great wore it 2day Gx
Want 2 c u
Where?
Where r u?
Restaurante Miguel in town
Meet by supermarket in 10 Qx
George locked the screen on her phone and put it back in the pocket of her jeans. She took a deep breath and prepared to go and tell Helen she was leaving.
‘I’m not feeling very well; I’m going to go,’ George said, finishing her drink and replacing the glass on the table.
‘Oh poor you. Have you got some painkillers? I’ve got some in my handbag somewhere; let me just have a look,’ Helen began, delving into her bag and pulling out Marisa’s supersized sunglasses.
‘That’s OK; I have some. Look, I’ll leave the Jeep; Adam can drive it back,’ George said, picking up her bag.
‘Well, what about you? You can’t walk; it’s far too far and this heat does real damage if you’re not used to it,’ Helen began.
‘I’ve got a taxi. I stopped one outside so I’d better go; he’s waiting,’ George said quickly.
‘Oh, OK. Well, take care and we won’t be too late. It’s a big day tomorrow,’ Helen remarked.
‘Yeah, bye,’ George replied.
Twelve minutes passed before Quinn pulled up alongside her in a red Jeep identical to the one he’d given her to drive.
‘Hey,’ he greeted as she opened the door and got in.
‘This is twelve minutes; you said ten.’
‘So you do care, huh? You were worried about me,’ Quinn said, smiling at her as he pulled away .
‘Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to be left with 200 Seville oranges to make use of if the wedding didn’t go ahead,’ George said.
‘I’m glad you messaged me. I’ve been stuck with Nigel the doctor since my dramatic collapse. He’s probably on the phone to Roger right now wondering where I am,’ Quinn informed.
‘You left the doctor?’
‘Everyone has to pee sometime. If he took my blood pressure one more time, I swear I was thinking about strangling him with the stethoscope,’ Quinn told her.
‘Quinn, it isn’t funny. What happened back there in the conference room? Was it heatstroke?’ George enquired.
‘Heatstroke? Ah, that’s the official line, is it?’ Quinn said with a laugh.
‘That’s what Michael tried to tell me.’
‘But you didn’t believe him. That’s my girl,’ Quinn said, turning off onto the coast road.
‘Well, what happened?’ George wanted to know.
‘In a second. I think there’s a car following us,’ Quinn said, studying the rear-view mirror.
‘What? Press?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, what do we do?’
‘Lose him. Let’s see how fast this Jeep can go,’ Quinn suggested.
‘Are you crazy? Just pull over somewhere and I’ll get out,’ George said as Quinn put his foot to the floor.
‘And have them snapping photos for tomorrow’s front pages?’
‘Quinn!’ George shrieked as they began to speed along the coast road at breakneck pace.
‘Just hold on,’ he urged.
The orange groves and cultivated earth were flashing past her eyes now, like the ground had earlier onboard the plane in the approach to take off. The car in pursuit was almost matching them for speed and Quinn took a sharp right off the main road in a bid to shake him off. The Jeep skidded onto a gravel track with nothing but farmland at either side.
‘Quinn! For God’s sake, stop!’
He ignored her and they carried on haring across the shingle and dust covered terrain, debris flicking up at them as they sped along.
Another right and then a left and, happy the tail was lost, he finally pulled the car over underneath the shade of a tree.
‘What the hell was that all about?! You could have killed us!’ George screamed at the top of her voice, throwing open the door in her anger.
‘That Merc was following us! Did you want to get photographed for a celebrity magazine?’
‘No! Of course not! But I didn’t want to get showered with stones either!’ George yelled back.
‘I apologise! I didn’t realise you were so precious!’
‘What did you say?’ George questioned, narrowing her eyes at him.
‘Well, what did you want me to do? Smile for the camera and offer them an interview?’
‘This situation is just getting ridiculous! I haven’t got time for it any more,’ George said.
She started to walk away from him, up the track. She didn’t know where she was going but she needed to put distance between them. The whole scenario was just too much.
‘Where are you going? George, for Christ’s sake. Come back here!’ Quinn yelled after her.
‘No! I don’t take orders from you! Leave me alone!’
‘This is crazy! Come back!’
‘Piss off! ’
‘Piss off? That’s what you really want me to do?’ Quinn asked, catching her up and grabbing her roughly by the arm.
She was so angry, she could happily have punched him in the face. She was sick of this charade, the stupid La Manga Resort complex, Taylor and her designer shift dresses. She may have the biggest catering contract of her life but she was never going to have what she really wanted. And that was him. Despite the rage she felt now at his recklessness, she hadn’t felt this deeply about anyone since Paul. And it was going to come to nothing. All of a sudden, she didn’t think she could handle that.
‘Well?’ Quinn asked again.
‘I can’t compete! With this mad lifestyle of yours, with your fiancée, with car chases and furtive meetings. I can’t do it,’ George exclaimed.
‘I know it’s rough but?—’
‘But what, Quinn? There is no “but” anything. This is all this is. This is all we are. Sex between appointments with your wedding planner and secret lunches in a Spanish hideaway,’ George stated.
‘I want it to be more,’ Quinn told her, looking at her with sincerity in his expression.
‘So you say, but then you stood on that stage this evening and told a room full of people how much you were looking forward to getting married,’ George blasted.
‘That was all for show. You should know that by now! There were press there and most of the people coordinating the event; what was I supposed to say?’
‘How can I believe anything you tell me about what you want and how you feel if you’re so capable of spinning a line? How do I know you’re not spinning one to me?’ she carried on.
‘Come on, George; I’ve told you things I haven’t told anybody.’
‘Like what? ’
‘Like how I don’t want to get married. Like how I feel like a prisoner in my own life. What d’you think would happen if people knew all that?’
‘You’d be free?’
‘You think?’
‘Well, I don’t know! I don’t know because you won’t tell me! You don’t let me in! You’re too busy keeping up appearances, being the macho pop star and all that means fuck all to me!’ George screamed.
‘I know. And when I’m with you, I’m who I want to be. You know me George, better than anyone.’
‘Do I?’
‘Yes,’ Quinn insisted and he brushed her hair off her face.
‘I wish I believed it,’ she said with a sigh.
‘What can I do to make you believe it?’
‘Trust me enough to tell me what’s going on with you,’ she replied.
Quinn let out a heavy sigh and dropped his eyes from hers.
‘You can’t do it, can you?’ George said, her voice full of frustration.
‘It isn’t that straightforward. If it was then I would and—’ Quinn protested.
‘Forget it,’ George snapped, turning her back on him and walking back up the track.
‘George! Wait! Listen!’ Quinn hollered after her.
She turned back to face him, her hands planted on her hips, the sun burning the back of her neck.
‘What happened in the conference room – it happens sometimes. Not usually in public, but about a couple of times a month – maybe more – I kind of just blackout,’ Quinn told her.
‘What?’
‘You wanted the truth; that’s the truth.’
‘But that isn’t right. Are they doing tests?’ George asked him .
‘Believe me, I’ve had every test there is,’ Quinn said.
‘And they can’t find the cause?’ George questioned.
‘It isn’t quite like that.’
‘Well, what is it like?’
Quinn took hold of her hand and held it in his, gently stroking her fingers.
‘I had an accident. A really bad one, years ago. I was in a coma for months. The blackouts are to do with that,’ Quinn told her matter-of-factly.
‘My God, what did you do?’ George exclaimed.
‘Apparently, I was riding a motorbike without a helmet and I hit a truck,’ Quinn said, looking at her.
‘Apparently?’ George queried.
‘I don’t remember,’ Quinn admitted with a shrug.
‘Is this what you’ve been trying to tell me before?’ George asked him.
‘Yeah, kind of. Lately, it’s become more than the blackouts. I’ve started having these dreams about the accident, about playing in a band, about not liking bananas. I don’t know if I like bananas, for Christ’s sake! I’m too scared to eat one! And it’s freaking me out because I’m worried that the bits about the accident and the totally shit band aren’t dreams. I think they might be memories,’ Quinn told her.
‘Would that be a bad thing? If it was memory coming back?’ George asked.
‘I don’t know; that’s half the issue. Will I be better off knowing or not knowing?’ Quinn enquired.
‘What are you afraid of?’ George asked.
‘The truth. Just like you said,’ Quinn replied, looking at her intensely.
‘Everyone needs the truth,’ George told him.
‘That’s what I think every day when I wake up and then there’s Roger with the latest big news about Brand Blake. Then there’s Taylor with her wedding entourage and all I want to think about is you and me and how much I want there to be a you and me,’ Quinn said.
‘You’re getting married in four days,’ George reminded.
‘Am I?’ Quinn replied, looking at her.
‘I think we should stop seeing each other.’
‘You want to stop it?’ Quinn asked.
‘No,’ George admitted.
‘Then why even think it? I couldn’t stop seeing you even if I wanted to. I can’t keep away from you, George. I can’t stop thinking about you. I want to be with you every minute of every day and it drives me insane because I can’t control it,’ Quinn told her, running a hand through her hair.
‘But you’re getting married,’ George repeated.
‘And you think that’s going to make a difference? You think having a ring on my finger is going to stop me wanting you?’ Quinn asked her.
‘It should,’ George replied as his fingers began to massage the nape of her neck.
‘Well, I’m telling you, it won’t,’ Quinn said seriously.
‘And what if it changes things for me?’ George asked him.
‘Will it?’
‘I know what we’ve been doing isn’t right but it becomes a whole different thing if you get married. I won’t be a mistress, Quinn, not like that,’ George told him.
‘So what are you saying? If I get married, you won’t see me again?’ Quinn asked, looking at her.
‘Yes,’ George replied definitely.
‘So if I want to keep seeing you, I have to call off the wedding,’ Quinn said.
‘I didn’t say that, I?—’
‘You did say that.’
‘Quinn, this isn’t about me; it’s about you. If you love Taylor then marry her, like you were planning to do before you met me. But, if you don’t love her, don’t marry her. Because if you do, you’d be lying to her, yourself and your public,’ George tried to explain.
‘You know I don’t love her,’ Quinn spoke.
‘You say that like it doesn’t matter.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I’m not getting married for her; I’m getting married for Roger,’ Quinn yelled, kicking at the gravel track.
He sent a foot full of shingle into the air and the dust swirled between them like a murky barrier.
George just stared at him, not knowing what to say. You didn’t get married for your record producer unless he was a member of the Mafia and you had a price on your head. That couldn’t be what it was. That didn’t happen in real life.
‘Listen, we’d better get going. If I’m out too long, they’ll be calling and…’
‘I don’t understand. What hold has Roger got over you?’ George questioned as Quinn began to walk back to the Jeep.
‘It’s complicated. I’ve said way too much already.’
‘Why won’t you tell me?’ George wanted to know.
‘I can’t, George, all right? I just can’t,’ Quinn exclaimed.
‘But I’m not a member of the Press Association. I’m not someone who’s going to kiss and tell to the tabloids. I’m just a caterer from Basingstoke,’ George pleaded.
‘Listen, no matter what you did, no matter who you did it with, I wouldn’t be able to let you go, marriage or no marriage,’ Quinn told her sincerely.
‘I won’t be the other woman. Not when that ring is on her finger,’ George began, swallowing a lump in her throat .
‘You won’t even give me some time? Give us a chance?’ Quinn asked as he got into the Jeep.
She didn’t reply.
‘Fine. I get it. Why waste your time on someone who’s so fucked up, he’s going to marry someone he couldn’t give a shit about,’ Quinn snapped angrily and he started up the engine.
‘Come on, Quinn, that isn’t how I feel,’ George insisted.
‘No? Well, how would I know? You say I’m holding back – what about you?’ Quinn accused.
George didn’t answer. She got into the Jeep silently and, as it pulled away, she put her hand to the chain on her neck.