Chapter 25
25
What type of hotel held a bloody wake that close to Christmas? That was what Drew wanted to know. And how the hell could somebody even manage to get a booking like that so last minute? The Home Crew had booked this place months in advance, with a hefty deposit if rumours were to be believed. Yet now it appeared that any Tom, Dick, or Harry could simply pop their clogs and have a function room ready to go.
‘What are you doing?’ Drew asked as he watched Sarah slip her plate onto a table. ‘You can take it with you.’
‘I’m not taking a dead man’s food with me.’
‘Why? He’s not going to know. And what’s going to happen to it otherwise? Just take it. No one will even notice.’
As the words escaped his lips, Drew realised they might not be as true as he had hoped. Several pairs of eyes were looking in their direction. One particular pair of eyes belonging to an unusually tall man in a morning suit offered them a quizzical glare. Drew smiled before remembering that this very much did appear to be a wake and turned the smile into an over exaggerated sad face. God damn it. Why did Sarah have to wear that damn turquoise dress? She stood out like a bloody sore thumb. Slowly, they edged their way out of the main room and back towards the elevator.
‘How the hell did you not realise?’ Sarah said as the lift doors closed around them. ‘I thought you said you worked with those people.’
‘Obviously, I just got confused,’ Drew said, wishing like hell that he’d just managed a mouthful of guacamole and nachos before they had fled. Dealing with this situation was hard enough as it was, without adding the fact that he was growing hungrier and hungrier by the second. ‘There are a lot of Home Crew staff I don’t know.’ Drew attempted to defend himself. ‘They should have had clearer signage. Look, why don’t we go up to the room now. Just order room service.’
Without any warning, at least not one that he saw, Sarah slammed her palm against the edge of the elevator.
‘God damn it, Drew, I just want to go to a Christmas party. Just for half an hour. The only people I ever speak to are other mums. Mums I don’t even like. My conversations revolve almost entirely around the topics of phonics and reading level and why the hell my kid insists on putting every damn object in her mouth while having to hear about how bloody Philomena is already reading sodding George Orwell. I just want a normal conversation. A normal night where I can see people drinking wine and talking about holidays and adventures and believe that I’m one of them. That I still have a life. Would that be too much to ask for just one night?’
Stunned by the reverberation that continued around the lift wall after Sarah had expelled her last breath, Drew twisted his lips together in an awkward roll.
‘I guess we could check one of the other ballrooms?’ he said.
This time, the elevator opened to ‘Last Christmas’ by Wham! Choruses of laughter and chatter swilled around them, and as much as Drew wished otherwise, there was no denying the obvious differences between here and the previous gathering, although, in his defence, he didn’t feel like he recognised any more people, with the men now dressed in casual coloured shirts and jeans, and the women dressed in anything from jeans and vest tops to full-on sequinned gowns. Several pairs of eyes moved towards them, which were followed by hurried whispers. He attempted to loosen the collar on his already unbuttoned shirt. It was feeling terribly tight all of a sudden.
‘This looks more like it,’ Sarah said, a wide smile on her face. ‘Now, why don’t you ring your mum and check that the kids are all right? That way, you can stop worrying and start enjoying yourself. I’ll go get us some food.’
Jumping in front of her, Drew blocked her way. ‘No, don’t be silly. You don’t want to be walking around. You need to sit down. You’ve already been on your feet too much today. And you said your back was hurting. You’ve only got three weeks to go. Remember what the doctor said about not being a young mum this time.’
Her eyebrows rose in a clear indication that she was not impressed. ‘It’s four weeks. And I’ll remember the doctor said that when I’m standing up doing dinner or running after Eva when you’re at work too.’
Drew inched himself away. Whether it was his imagination or not, he couldn’t help feeling that people were closing in on them. He had already noticed Heidi, waving from one side of the room, trying to catch his attention, and Barry was bound to be lurking around somewhere. It wasn’t like Barry had much in the way of boundaries when it came to the office; God knows what he’d say if he’d had a few.
‘There.’ Drew spotted a sudden escape plan, all by himself in the corner of the room. ‘You can sit down and chat with Stu. I’ll get the food.’
‘Stu?’
‘You know Stu. From accounts.’
Sarah took a moment, after which her face frowned considerably. ‘You mean the weird one with all the conspiracy theories who refuses to go on the internet or use email?’
‘See, you do remember him. Come on. I’ll take you over there.’
Then, narrowly avoiding two of the lads from marketing, he swept his arm over her shoulder and guided her across the room to Stu. After five minutes with him, she’d be begging Drew to leave.
It was easier to agree than object, and as much as Sarah didn’t want to admit it, her legs were starting to ache, and her back was starting to throb with a bit more ferocity. She would have a word with him later, though, she thought, as Drew flung his arm around her and steered her towards a far corner of the room. Probably not tonight – there was no point ruining everything when they had a hotel room paid for – but she would definitely be having a word.
‘Stu,’ Drew said, as he pulled out a chair for Sarah. ‘You remember my wife, Sarah?’
Stu’s eyes darted suspiciously around the room. ‘You know it’s an unsecured wi-fi network in this place?’
‘Is it?’ Sarah took out her phone.
‘No!’ Stu’s hand flew into the air. ‘Are you crazy? Turn that thing off. You don’t know who will be listening.’
Sarah turned back to Drew for support only to discover that he had high-tailed it and was already halfway across the room. She placed her hand on her bump and took a deep breath.
‘So, Stu,’ she said. ‘Have you got any exciting plans for over the holiday?’
‘You know that some people believe Christmas celebrations are just a societal response to seasonal depression?’ Stu responded.
‘Oh, really?’ Sarah’s eyes went across the room to where Drew was now at his second buffet table of the night. He was going to pay for this.
‘It makes sense. When you think about it.’
‘I’m sure it does.’
Over the next few minutes – that felt substantially more like hours – Sarah learned various other titbits of information she had previously been oblivious to, including the fact that governments were controlling the countries through the use of fluoride in toothpaste and water and that Paul McCartney actually died in 1985 and was replaced by a man who looked and sang exactly like him. Stu did start to list the evidence that supposedly substantiated this claim but, by that point, Sarah had already switched off.
Deciding that she was going to go insane listening to any more drivel, and suddenly aware of the fact that her bump had shifted position so that it was now sitting on her bladder and squeezing it like a water balloon, she pushed herself out of her chair.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I just need to head to the ladies. I won’t be a minute.’
Her first instinct was to head back towards the elevators but, after a few steps, realised that if the toilet was in that direction, she would probably have seen it. So she stopped, turned around, and tried to take stock of where it could be.
‘Are you all right?’
The voice caught her off guard.
‘Oh, sorry, yes. Just in a world of my own. Looking for the ladies.’ The girl she found herself face-to-face with looked barely old enough to be out of university. Her ripped jeans and white vest top made her look infinitely more stylish and sophisticated than the majority of the women around her. Despite her earlier confidence, Sarah found herself feeling like a beached sperm whale by comparison.
‘They’re just around the corner,’ the girl pointed, before changing her look to a far more concerned one. ‘You’re Sarah, right? Drew’s wife?’ she said.
‘Yes.’
‘I’m Polly.’ She leaned in for what Sarah assumed was going to be a handshake but actually resulted in kisses on both cheeks. ‘I am so pleased to meet you. Drew’s so incredibly proud of you.’
‘Is he?’
‘Of course, he talks about you all the time.’
‘Thank you. That’s nice to hear.’ It was. Sarah felt bad now. How many times had she imagined Drew typing away at his computer, getting his coffees from the coffee machine, and enjoying his Monday fry up without even a second thought towards her trying to juggle housework and the kids without going entirely insane? The fact he appreciated her so much that he spoke about her to his colleagues meant something. Maybe she would let him off the hook for his weird behaviour tonight.
A sharp pain shot through her side, just below her ribs. Wincing, she placed her hands on the spot.
‘Is everything okay?’ Polly rested a hand on her shoulder.
‘Oh, yes.’ Sarah shook the pain away. ‘All three of them have been kickers. I suppose I should be grateful, really. They’ve certainly got some strength.’
‘Why don’t you come and take a seat?’ Polly hooked an arm around Sarah’s back, offering support that she was annoyingly grateful for. ‘Do you want me to get you anything? Food? A glass of water?’
Sarah shook her head. ‘Honestly, it will pass. I’m guessing you haven’t gone through this yet?’ It was part age, part the fact that the girl had a waist similar in thickness to one of Sarah’s thighs that led her to the assumption. Fortunately, Polly didn’t seem to take offence at the comment.
‘Oh no, I’m miles off. Very much single. And no intention of going down that road until I’m 100 per cent sure it’s what I want. There’s no going back once they’re out!’
‘You can say that again.’
The girl smiled back. She had one of those infuriatingly effortless looks about her. Like she was the type of person who could wear a white dress without the constant fear of spilling something down it. By contrast, Sarah had once managed to get ketchup on her bra, despite being fully dressed at the time.
‘But you and Drew have got things great between you, right? I mean, from what he’s said, you guys sound like the most picture-perfect married couple of all time.’
‘Really?’ The compliments were starting to get confusing. Maybe this Polly was thinking of someone else. There was another Andrew in the department. Perhaps she had got them confused?
Sarah’s sudden pause for consideration did not go unnoticed.
‘I mean it,’ Polly said. ‘I don’t know another couple that could do what you two do.’
‘What we do?’ Sarah tilted her head, even more confused than ever.
‘You know.’ Polly leaned in as if she was about to tell her a secret. ‘Writing the book.’
It had to be the music, Sarah thought as she blinked repeatedly in the hope that it might somehow improve her hearing.
‘Sorry, the book?’
‘Well, you know.’ Polly looked at her with something akin to reverence. ‘To be comfortable enough to let your husband spend all his time writing away about what a dirty air hostess gets up to in her spare time.’
‘All his time…’ Sarah found the rest of the sentence swallowed up by the large lump that was swelling in her throat.
‘Oh.’ Polly’s eyes widened. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. I mean, the chapter you wrote was… Wow. Seriously wow.’ She leaned in closer, seemingly oblivious to the feeling of sheer horror suddenly engulfing Sarah. ‘I mean, I know you’ve got this one on the way.’ She gestured to Sarah’s oversized belly. ‘But you know, if you and Drew ever fancy re-enacting that cockpit scene, I’d be more than happy to join your flight crew.’