Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
L ulu’s ladies’ afternoon tea is a short walk through the lovely rose gardens and labyrinth grass maze, past a large fountain adjacent to the hotel.
From outside, the oil mill feels both charmingly rustic and very sophisticated, with a modern glass and wrought-iron terrace looking over the surrounding countryside. Inside, all the ladies have gathered alongside the long tables of peonies, and it smells like rose and vanilla and jasmine. Arched perfectly across the ceiling is the powder yellow bunting, and I have to admit, it looks stunning.
We start out with some lovely pastries and cupcakes, and fresh pots of coffee, scones and cream (you can take the girl out of England, but…), and a game of Where Were We? Around the room there are ten or so numbered pictures of Lulu and Chip on various trips, and we each have to guess and write down where we think each picture was taken. Turns out they enjoyed trips to Monaco, and Rome, and Tuscany, and even Lapland. I come fifth out of twenty, which isn’t so bad considering I hadn’t really spoken to Lulu in a while. Mum won. And for a moment I think Marla is going to have a conniption that Mum won, because she says, sounding miffed, ‘Well, that looked like Cyprus to me. It’s where I went on my honeymoon.’
To which Mum replies, ‘Which one?’
Good to see that the rivalry is still going strong.
There are musical chairs after that; who can make the best cocktail (Mia, a skinny something with shitloads of vodka); who knows the most Italian wedding words (hint: no one), and then teams of four dressing Lulu up in a bridal dress made of ivy and paper, which left a disaster site for the poor waitresses to clean up.
A delicious set of finger foods is set up on three tiers. Before we can eat though, there are photos of the food to be taken for Instagram, and photos of the girls, and selfies, both portrait and landscape, and pouts and smiles, and head tilts. And filters, lots of filters.
After another glass of wine, I can feel my eyes almost droop a little, jetlag in full force. I check my watch and see that it’s almost midnight at home. I definitely need a nap before tonight.
‘Gemma?’ Lulu is peering at my head, breaking me out of my spell.
‘Yes?’
‘Do you pluck your grey hairs?’ she says loudly in front of Mia and Amie, who probably have never had a grey hair in their lives. They have perfect flawless skin and glossy hair and they are all looking at me.
‘Uh, no.’ I shrug as if to say, What are you talking about?
She gets up out of her seat opposite me, and comes around the table, leaning in close and peering at my hair. I feel a whoosh of embarrassment. Where’s Mum? Or Aunty Janice? Or anyone else over fifty that could help me explain my way out of this one.
‘You do!’ Lulu demands getting even closer.
‘I don’t,’ I say, fibbing.
‘No, I can see them! I can see them growing back; they’re sticking up. Little wiry baby greys.’ She points at my head. ‘Want me to take a photo?’ She pulls out her phone.
My neck flushes crimson. ‘Definitely not.’ I lean back and put both hands over my head protectively, and wish I had the confidence to tell her – politely, of course – to feck off. I say quickly, ‘It must be a stray blonde hair.’
‘But your hair is dark brown.’ Lulu looks at me as if I was mental.
I know I can’t say a thing, otherwise I’ll be accused of spoiling the day. I clutch both hands into fists, and just keep pushing my nails into my palms, trying not to feel a tad exhausted and over it, which is hard after not enough sleep and too many afternoon rosés.
‘Lucky I’m blonde, because I don’t think this will ever be an issue for me, no matter how old I get!’ Lulu says.
‘Yes, lucky for you.’ I nod, reaching out to the waitress and taking another wine and gulping half of it down in one go.
Then Lulu suddenly bursts out laughing. ‘Oh goodness, this reminds me of my tenth birthday. Do you remember? When we found you had dark hairs on your upper lip? Gem-man!’
‘ What ?’ Mia asks, leaning in, intrigued. ‘Tell me.’
My headache immediately starts thumping harder. I shoot a look at Lulu, a warning, and telepathically tell her, Enough, shut up right now . To make it clearer I won’t tolerate this, I say breezily, ‘There’s nothing to tell,’ and excuse myself to the loo.
Inside, the bathrooms are decadent with white marble floors and walls and I let my forehead rest on the coolness of the wall next to the sink.
How the hell did that just happen? I already know. Because besides being beautiful, Lulu seems to have a mean streak. Like a scorpion tail, it can flash and strike you before you even notice.
Case in point, Lulu’s fateful tenth birthday. I turned up to Marla’s new house (husband number two by that time), expecting I was going to be the older one, the cooler one. In all my seventeen-year-old glory I was wearing large black Kepper jeans, a black midriff-baring top and black cap, slightly turned sideways and up. I thought I looked very Lisa Left Eye Lopes circa TLC, very cool.
But upon seeing me, Lulu declared I looked exactly like a man. She also then leaned in, and asked if I was growing a moustache because there was hair on my lip, and didn’t that only happen to boys? The other girls exploded into laughter and I made some feeble excuse and left the party before bursting into tears down the street. And from then on, I was known as Gem-man to Lulu and her posse.
Is it any coincidence that the moment I turned eighteen, I left for university in Leeds? And after graduating, decided to put an entire ocean between us, leaving England and taking a job halfway across the world?
I close my eyes and wish I were anywhere else – back in my apartment with Adam hugging me, while we do something simple, like making coffee or watching a movie. Or having a salty marg with Hannah. I give a half-smile. The idea of Han being here, telling people they’re shitheads and to fuck right off cheers me up a bit.
Just in case they are still talking about me, I hang out in the bathroom for a while, giving them enough time to lose interest and find something else to gossip about.
As I come back from the bathroom, hoping to slide unseen back into my chair, I see that – thankfully – they’ve moved on.
‘So Gemma, I wanted to talk to you.’ Mia pulls her chair closer to mine and checks Lulu is busy talking about silk dresses with Amie. ‘I have this idea for a book.’
This happens a lot . I feel a bit like sticking one of the forks in my eye, but instead, I put on a smile and say, ‘Oh, do you?’
‘I wanted to write about this girl who’s looking for her next big break in modelling. But then she decides to take up Instagram instead and she becomes famous that way, meeting the who’s who.’
I want to say, So a memoir, then? but instead I nod and lean forward, cupping my chin in my hands as if I were spellbound by the idea, and ask in Nelly Nicepants voice, ‘And how much have you written?’
‘I haven’t started.’
I sat back. ‘Okay, so when you have started, send me some chapters. And I’ll let you know what I think.’
‘Well, I was thinking I’m not that good at the writing part, but the idea is great. So could you help me out?’
‘With what? Oh, you mean … the writing part?’
Mia nods. Everything in me screamed, You want to be a writer, but you can’t write? But instead I say, ‘Well maybe I could give you some tips to get started. Here’s my card, we can go from there.’ I scramble around in my bag for a business card and slide it across to her.
Lulu sees my card and immediately says, ‘No shop talk at my wedding!’ She looks at both of us. ‘This isn’t about work.’
I nod. ‘You’re right. Sorry.’
Mia licks her lips. ‘So tell me more about Adam; he’s kinda hunky. Are you guys serious?’ Her green eyes dance across my face.
Lulu gives a quick airy laugh. ‘I think she means to say monogamous, not serious.’
‘Oh, um…’ Am I answering about Weasel or the real Adam? ‘Kinda serious. And monogamous.’
Mia’s face drops slightly and I swear she says, ‘That’s a shame’ under her breath.
‘You know, darling’ – Mum arrives on the scene nursing a wine – ‘that Adam. He’s different from the rest of the guys you’ve gone for. He’s not wishy-washy. Won’t back down. Says what he thinks. I think he’s good for you.’
‘You can tell all that from meeting him once?’ I asked wryly.
‘One thing I do know, Gemma, is love. And heartache.’ She checks to make sure Lulu isn’t listening, but Lulu is taking a selfie with Isabella. ‘I have a good feeling about him, call it a mother’s intuition. I had the same thing about Chip. And now look where we are.’
‘Okay, ladies.’ Amie clinks her spoon on her glass of champagne, until the chitchat dies down. ‘Now we’ve all had a few champagnes, it’s time to move on to the secret ladies’ part of the day! Sexcapades. We’re going to go around the circle and say the hottest place we’ve done it and who we’ve done it with.’
God, no.
I look at Mum, horrified, but she was doing a little go-go-go dance with her fists as if this was actually fun. No, I don’t want to hear about her doing it with Dad. Or, worse, with someone else.
Lulu goes first, something about yachts, Chip and a French marina. I try to drown out my mum talking about her latest caravan trip with Dad, and a small pond that was never the same again. Mia mentions a threesome in Ibiza – of course she did; she is Weasel’s soulmate – and then it’s my turn.
‘So go on, Gemma,’ Lulu says, her hand going around in circles as if I’m taking too long. ‘Don’t make it up, tell the truth.’
‘It’s got to be with Adam,’ Mia says, a devilish glint in her eye.
My mind races and I think back to the hottest time Adam and I got down to it, and realise, we haven’t really. Sex has been the one thing that we seem to not have totally mastered. Whilst it’s nice, and close, it's never really ever earth-shattering. So instead, I take a vow of apology, and use an encounter with my ex, Richard, instead. ‘It was on the bonnet of his car,’ I say, flushed. ‘At a park at sunset, because we couldn’t wait until we got home.’
Mia raises an eyebrow, as if that’s somehow too tame for him, and she’s right, it probably is. ‘Is that what he’d say too?’
And then I realise I have to text Weasel to tell him, We’ve had hot sex on the bonnet of your car, and hope that no one from work ever sees it.