Chapter 31
31
As grateful as I am that Caleb is insisting on walking me back to the chateau in the dark, I’m a little on edge given that I don’t want anyone to spot him. Still, it is dark, cold, and snowy, so it’s probably for the best that I’m not doing it alone.
We walk together, along the snow-covered path towards the chateau, his footsteps crunching softly beside mine. As soon as the chateau is in sight, I’ll tell him that I’ll be okay from there, so that he can head back, before the snow starts falling again. I’ll just have to hope that he isn’t so much of a gentleman that he refuses. No, I never thought I would worry about a man being too much of a gentleman.
‘You really don’t have to walk me all the way,’ I say, glancing sideways at him.
‘It’s no trouble,’ Caleb replies, his breath visible in the chilly air. ‘If you slip, fall down the mountain and die, then who will be in my photos?’
I know that he’s joking but he actually makes a good point. If I slipped and fell down the mountain, how long would it be before anyone noticed, if it weren’t for Caleb being here with me? Even my own parents haven’t been taking my calls today.
‘Well, I can use my torch, for the last stretch,’ I reply. ‘And I can always google how to do an SOS.’
I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, for the first time in ages, and notice a notification from my mum that came through earlier. My heart skips a beat.
‘Is everything okay?’ Caleb asks, noticing my sudden change in expression.
‘I’m not sure,’ I say, opening the message. ‘I have a message from my mum, it says: “Sorry we didn’t answer. Your dad was in the hospital. I’m on my way there now. Will call later.”’
Panic sets in. I stop in my tracks.
‘Shit, I need to call my mum,’ I blurt. ‘My dad’s in the hospital, and she’s just dropping it into a text like that? Fuck, I don’t have any signal here.’
Caleb quickly reaches into his pocket and hands me his phone.
‘Here, use mine,’ he tells me, offering me his phone. ‘It has some kind of special SIM. I don’t know how it works, I think it uses satellites or something. You should be able to get through.’
I fumble with his phone, my hands shaking as I dial Tom’s number first. I can’t believe he hasn’t let me know.
It rings and rings, but no answer. I try to steady my breathing and punch in my mum’s number next. Each ring feels like an eternity, but finally, she picks up.
‘Mum! What’s going on? Is Dad okay?’ I blurt out, my voice a mix of worry and fear.
‘Amber, it’s you! Okay, calm down,’ she says, her voice soothing. ‘Your dad’s fine.’
She sounds confused that I’m even worried, which only confuses me further.
‘What?’ I blurt. ‘You said he was in the hospital…’
Mum laughs.
‘Amber, you silly goose, you worry too much,’ she says – which is rich coming from the world’s most spectacular worrier. ‘He was just visiting a friend. You know Elsie, from down the street? Remember her son, Ron, and his wife, Erica? We went to Spain with them, years ago, when you were two – remember?’
‘No, Mum, I don’t remember going to Spain when I was two,’ I reply, my tone totally flat.
‘Anyway, he was visiting Ken,’ she continues her explanation. ‘He’s broken his hip.’
I have no idea how Ken connects to Ron, Erica or Elsie, but that’s the least of my worries right now.
‘Mum, you said he was in the hospital, and that you were on your way there,’ I point out.
‘Yes, he was in the hospital, visiting Ken,’ she says, obviously baffled she’s having to explain herself. ‘Parking is a nightmare there, so I dropped off and picked up your dad – there’s no reason we can’t be amicable, Amber.’
I mean, from what Tom has been telling me, it doesn’t sound like they’re being amicable but, again, that’s not the point right now.
‘Mum, when someone is admitted to hospital you say they are in the hospital,’ I remind her. ‘When they are vising the hospital you say they are at the hospital.’
I notice Caleb smiling, part sympathy, part amusement.
‘Honestly, you can tell you’re a writer,’ she replies with a laugh. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s been a long day. I should have worded it better.’
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling.
‘Probably,’ I say with a laugh, just happy that everything is okay.
We chat for a few more minutes, and she reassures me that everything is fine. I feel a wave of relief wash over me as I hang up and hand the phone back to Caleb.
‘False alarm,’ I say, smiling weakly. ‘He was just visiting someone.’
Caleb laughs, shaking his head.
‘Your mum has a fun way with words, doesn’t she?’ he points out.
‘Yeah, it seems like it runs in the family,’ I reply.
‘I think that’s one of the things that fascinates me about the English language,’ he says. ‘How changing one word can make such a difference.’
‘Or a comma,’ I reply. ‘It’s that old saying about how a comma changes a sentence, like: helping your brother, Jack, off a horse.’
Caleb laughs.
‘Exactly,’ he replies. ‘The difference between being “shit” and “the shit”.’
Another great example. My book is currently shit – if I could just find a ‘the’ from somewhere.
‘Right, here we are, I’ll be okay from here,’ I tell him, the chateau in my sights.
‘Are you sure?’ he replies. ‘It’s less than a minute out of my day…’
‘I’m going to feel guilty that you’re walking back alone – what if you slip, fall down the mountain, and die?’ I ask, echoing his words back to him.
‘That’s what this cool phone is for,’ he says with a smile. ‘Goodnight, Amber. It’s been fun.’
‘It has,’ I reply. ‘Thanks for everything. Dinner, use of your phone…’
‘You’re welcome,’ he says with a chuckle. ‘See you tomorrow.’
I feel all sorts of things right now. I feel a strange mix of emotions – relief, gratitude, and maybe a hint of something else I can’t quite place. Oh, and I feel full. So, so full. Which reminds me…
It’s time to face the ladies, and the music, and the second dinner.
I know Bette is preparing dinner for everyone, and the thought of facing more food makes my steps feel heavy, like I’m reluctantly headed for a dentist appointment, but I don’t want to be rude – well, I don’t want them to perceive me as rude. The warm glow from the dining room spills invitingly into the hallway, casting long, spooky shadows, but instead of feeling welcomed, I feel like I’m walking into a scene from a horror movie.
With each step closer, my resolve weakens. I can practically hear my stomach groaning – screaming, even – in protest. I take a deep breath, hoping it will fortify me, instead it only makes me feel even more full, but I’m here now.
There they are: Bette, Mandy, and Gina, all seated around the table, engaged in lively conversation. In the centre of the table sits a steaming-hot plate piled high with what appears to be stew, and I’m sure it would look appealing – to anyone who isn’t already painfully full, that is.
‘We were beginning to think you weren’t going to show,’ Mandy says, her eyes narrowing suspiciously as she watches me sit down.
‘Sorry, I got caught up doing some research,’ I reply, trying to sound as casual as possible. My voice wavers slightly, because I’m worried my breath will still smell of five different desserts, and they’ll realise – even though I’m pretty sure I drank enough alcohol to make my entire body sterile enough for surgery.
Gina raises an eyebrow and grins mischievously.
‘Research, huh?’ she replies. ‘Were you rolling around in the snow with a boy?’
I laugh, though it feels a bit forced, but I’m happy to move the conversation along.
‘If only,’ I say with an easy-breezy scoff. ‘No, just a lot of thinking, looking around and note-taking.’
Bette, playing hostess, takes to her feet and leans over the table.
‘Well, if you were, I’m sure you’ll be hungry,’ she says.
I’m sure she’s just being friendly, and that she isn’t at all suspicious, but I’m paranoid. Without waiting for a response, she loads my plate high with stew, the thick gravy sloshing around as she does so.
Oh God, I feel sick just looking at it. My stomach, already stretched to capacity, churns in protest, but I force a smile and take my seat.
‘Oh, you are hungry,’ Bette says, noticing the sound.
Mandy eyes me with suspicion, her fork hovering over her plate.
‘So, research, hmm? What kind of research?’ she asks.
‘Oh, you know, just exploring the area, getting a feel for the place,’ I say, trying to keep my tone light. ‘It could be a great place to set a book.’
‘Come on, dig in, dig in!’ Bette encourages me.
I stare at the mountain of food in front of me, and the thought of taking even one bite is just too much. But I can’t let them see, I need to keep a lid on it. I pick up my fork and push the stew around my plate, trying to make it look like I’m eating.
The ladies continue chatting about their writing schedules, discussing how relaxed things are, and when their deadlines for their next books are. I try to focus on their words, hoping to distract myself from the smell of dinner.
‘I’m actually ahead of schedule for once,’ Mandy says. ‘It’s so much more enjoyable when you’re not writing under pressure.’
‘Same here,’ Gina chimes in. ‘I’ve got most of my first draft done, just need to polish it up – there’s months until it’s due though.’
Imagine having a first draft and months to spare!
Bette looks at me, her eyes narrowing.
‘What’s wrong, Amber?’ she asks. ‘You’re not eating.’
‘Oh, um, I don’t eat meat,’ I blurt, because it’s the first thing that comes to mind. Of course, now I’ve left myself open to plot holes, if I don’t stick with my story forever .
Mandy gives me a quizzical look, her brow furrowing in confusion.
‘Didn’t we see you eating chicken?’ she asks. Suddenly she smiles, excited at the thought of catching me in a lie.
‘Uh, it’s beef I don’t eat,’ I tell them.
‘This is lamb,’ Bette points out.
Oh, for God’s sake.
‘Right, er, I meant red meat,’ I clarify. ‘I don’t eat red meat. Just chicken and fish. It’s okay though, I’ll just eat the veg.’
I stab a mushy, gravy-soaked carrot with my fork and pop it into my mouth. It feels like it’s dripping with grease, and tastes absolutely minging, but that might just be my overstuffed stomach rebelling against any more food.
‘Lovely,’ I lie, smiling weakly.
Bette, not missing a beat, smiles back with a touch of understanding.
‘Don’t worry, dessert doesn’t have any meat in it,’ she tells me. ‘Sticky toffee pudding with custard.’
I never thought I’d say this but no more fucking dessert, God, please.
I continue trying to make it look like I’m eating, in the hope I can say I’m too full for dessert. I feel like I’m a kid again, trying to hide the peas under my mashed potatoes, only I’m trying to hide everything under everything else.
What’s more sickening than the food, though, is their attitude. Not that there is anything wrong with it – it’s jealousy I’m sick with. Everyone seems so settled, stable, and happy, with their nice lives and their lengthy deadlines.
Mandy and Gina are back to swapping notes on their upcoming projects, while Bette listens happily. It’s a cosy, idyllic scene, and I can’t help but feel like an outsider looking in.
Here I am, sitting among accomplished, popular authors, and I’m trying to write a bad book on purpose just to get my contract cancelled.
Still, it’s the best idea I’ve got, and it sounds a lot easier than trying to eat a sticky toffee pudding right now.