CHAPTER 3 #2
‘Vibrant-Sea has long been a pet project of mine, super close to my heart, as it combines my love of a vibrant, active, go-getting, positive lifestyle with the magic of the sea.’ She glanced out of the window in the direction of what she obviously hoped was the coast, and then looked down at a scrap of paper she’d taken out of her trouser pocket.
‘Sustainable athleisure is such a passion of mine. A big passion. A big, big passion. It is something I truly believe in and have been wanting to do my entire life. I would very much first of all like to say a big thank you to my beloved Malcolm, my rock, my husband, my inspiration, for helping to finance this total passion of mine.’ She looked up as Malcolm raised his glass and then, catching her eye, didn’t drink from it.
‘Sustainable athleisure is something we should all be using these days. Too many clothes are put into landfill, and I feel passionately, ever so passionately, that everyone …’ she looked around the assembled guests, ‘almost everyone should be able to wear leggings that don’t pollute the planet.
Working out should not cost the world. There is no Planet B. So, here’s to Vibrant-Sea!’
‘Vibrant-Sea!’ everyone toasted.
As a call to arms, it was perhaps not the most dynamic of speeches, thought Pat, wandering over to the rack and having a riffle through. But she was fond of a legging and these didn’t appear to be that bad.
‘They’re two hundred and fifty a pair,’ said Fi as she rushed to join her. ‘Bamboo’s expensive.’
‘I’m sure it is,’ agreed Pat, quickly removing her hand from the leggings as if touching them would imply she’d have to buy them, God forbid. ‘Where does it come from?’
‘China.’
‘Mmm, very green,’ she smiled. Luckily Fi didn’t realise she was being sarcastic.
Fi was whippet thin, with a carefully curated tan and the sunny blonde highlights of someone who had also lounged in the Caribbean all winter.
Despite, or perhaps because of, her regular tweakment trips to London, she looked older than she was.
In her early forties, her body was a temple to moderation.
No carbs, no sugar, no dairy, no caffeine, and she only drank champagne, which was apparently ‘practically carb-free’.
Walking behind her as she powered her way along the Sussex lanes with red weights strapped around her ankles, you could be forgiven for thinking she was in her early thirties.
On Instagram, where she preferred to be, she glowed with the triple-filtered youth of a twenty-something influencer.
In the flesh, however, she appeared to be most definitely heading towards half a century.
Pat picked up one of the grey zip-up hoodies with a scarlet lining and held it to her chest. Fi smiled and laughed and grabbed it off her, rapidly shaking her head as if saying ‘a thousand times no’.
‘This is, um, not for sale,’ she said. ‘This is for our youth market.’
‘Oh, do you have it in a larger size?’ asked Pat, mainly for her own amusement. Fi was suddenly reduced to a symphony of irritated tics. Her nose curled, her mouth pursed, and she aggressively scratched the back of her neck.
‘We don’t make clothes that big, I’m afraid. We’re like all the luxury brands: Prada, Gucci, Versace. We don’t go above a ten.’
‘Well, good luck with it all,’ Pat replied. ‘Especially around here.’
‘Actually, there are going to be quite a few changes around here. Aren’t there, Dorna? Pat, have you met Dorna yet? She’s doing this huge development on the Downs. It’s going to be amazing. They’re building a golf course. Boho Golf & Spa House Club.’
‘Boho golf?’ Pat frowned. ‘How is that possible?’
‘Boho Golf & Spa House Club is the full name,’ corrected Fi.
‘That does sound much better,’ nodded Pat. Once again, Fi was oblivious to her sarcasm.
‘Isn’t it?! Dorna? Have you met Pat? She’s a—’
‘A park warden?’
‘A psychotherapist.’
‘Oh, fancy,’ retorted Dorna. ‘A psychotherapist near Beachy Head. Are you short of business?’
‘I’m not really sure what you mean.’ Pat’s voice was icy.
‘There was some poor chap only this morning,’ Dorna continued, ignoring the Siberian situation unfolding in front of her. ‘There were police and an ambulance. Yet another statistic.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘This whole area needs a rebrand, that’s for sure!’ She laughed and jangled her bracelets.
‘And that’s why you’re here!’ enthused Fi, patting her on the back.
‘To turn the area into a luxury destination. It’s just what we need.
Some luxury. And a destination. Who doesn’t like luxury?
Who doesn’t like elevating the ordinary?
Thriving, not surviving. A lovely golf course and spa is perfect.
I can sell my bamboo Vibrant-Sea leggings and hoodies and sports bra tops. ’
‘Exactly,’ confirmed Dorna, raising her glass. ‘To sports bra tops and leggings.’ She sipped her champagne as Fi rushed back to her rack to see if she could persuade the pretty brunette, Lucy, to purchase a couple of pairs of leggings and a zippy hoodie top.
‘Except he was probably murdered,’ said Pat flatly.
‘Who was?’ asked Dorna, looking over Pat’s shoulder for someone more useful to talk to.
‘The boy on the beach.’
‘Oh no he wasn’t.’ Dorna laughed. ‘Don’t be absurd. We’re in the provinces. Nothing happens here. And anyway, the policewoman I spoke to said it was suicide.’
‘It seems the police closed the case before they even opened it.’
‘Well, they think it was suicide and they should know,’ said Dorna.
‘And I suspect murder.’
‘I’d keep that quiet if I were you! Keep your little thoughts to yourself.’ She leant over and lowered her voice, her warm champagne breath whistling in Pat’s ear. ‘Murder’s bad for business. Very bad for business, Pat. Murder! No one wants to hear about that.’