Chapter 6
On the way back to our master suite (Birdie’s parents insisted Matteo have it as it’s larger than the honeymoon suite, has triple-aspect windows and a workstation), we pass by Ged and Liam’s room and hear a strange high-pitched whining noise which causes me to immediately press my ear to the door.
Matteo is slightly startled at my lack of boundaries. I put a finger to my lips to shush him. ‘What if it’s the ghost?’
Something is going on and I need to know. I hear muffled voices.
‘Ged’s telling Liam they should tell someone about something,’ I whisper to Matteo, who is standing a foot away, probably wondering what sort of nosy wife he has lumbered himself with.
‘Now Liam’s begging him to wait until they’ve…
’ I pause to frown at Matteo. ‘Until they’ve had a chance to enjoy it first. And something about people not understanding.
And they need more sausage.’ This is riveting stuff.
My best friends never cease to surprise me. I wonder what they are up to.
‘I think we should leave them to enjoy whatever it is in peace, don’t you?’ Matteo says firmly as though I am interfering in some way. ‘This is their wedding after all.’
Footsteps approaching the door make me leap away.
‘Quick. They’re coming.’ We scurry down the landing and slip quietly into our room.
I sneak a glance back to catch Ged tiptoeing towards the stairs, peering left and right as though hoping to not get caught.
It’s all very odd. He’s still in the silk pyjamas but this time he’s carrying a large ashtray.
‘What’s he doing with that? Neither of them smokes. ’
Matteo pulls me into the room. ‘I can think of far better uses of our time than spying on your friends.’ He gives me the smouldering look that I’ve come to adore.
His eyes are bright like they were on his last visit to see me, once the stress of all the travel, the pressures of work and the worry of me forgetting where I’d put his passport had melted away.
He reaches out to sweep my hair from my shoulder and bends to place a light kiss on my neck.
It sends a flurry of tingles from my head down to my toes.
He pauses to gaze lovingly at me which immediately causes my heart to flutter as I close the gap between us, my arms around his shoulders as I press my body against his.
We fit perfectly together. His hands find my waist which sends shoots of lust to my baby-making facilities.
Then all thoughts of the massive wedding to-do list, whatever Nacho and Liberty are getting up to and the bizarre obsession with sausage that Ged and Liam have suddenly developed float from my head as his lips find mine.
The honking of car horns, excited chatter and a burst of yelling for someone to pull her pants back up and someone not to climb into the water fountain announce the unexpected arrival of Cherry, her worn-out husband and her two delightful children that she had too close together and now can’t control.
Surprised, I peer out of the open window, down to the commotion outside.
The youngest of Cherry’s daughters is squatting down to wee. The gush creates a disturbingly forceful yellow river that pools by the steps leading up to the house. The staff sidestep away from it. ‘I told you not to give her full-fat Coke,’ Cherry accuses her husband.
‘I didn’t think she’d drink the whole two-bloody-litre bottle though, did I?
’ he snaps back, wearily running a hand over his receding hairline.
The same thinning hairline that has caused much worry and consternation of late for his devoted wife.
His eyes are sunken dark circles indicating severe lack of sleep and his skin is sallow, the sort of desperate, haunted shade of grey that only new parenthood can bring.
He watches as his daughter continues to crouch, flooding the driveway.
The other, older daughter has opted to ignore the instruction to not climb in the fountain.
‘For fuck’s sake!’ yells Cherry, just as there’s a loud splash.
She darts over and drags the sopping wet child from the water.
She stands her upright. ‘Jesus wept! It took me hours to get those beach waves just right and now look at the state of you.’ Her daughter stares insipidly back at her.
‘Well? What did you do that for?’ Cherry demands.
Her daughter simply shrugs as Cherry continues to stare at her, waiting for an answer. After an unacceptably (in my humble opinion as a non-parent) lengthy pause, Cherry swings round to face her husband.
‘I give up! I give up. You’ll have to say something, Dom, because they obviously aren’t listening to me.’
‘Me? Why me?’ he says in a rattled voice, as though he’s been asked to name the capital of Uzbekistan and his life depends on it. ‘What do you want me to say?’
‘I don’t know. Why don’t you think of something?’
The staff, their heads swinging from one side to the other, seem riveted. They watch Dom flounder. ‘But… but I thought we were doing gentle parenting?’
Cherry rolls her eyes. I watch from my bedroom window as she barges past him up the steps, leaving him aghast. One child is clinging to his leg, dripping water all over him, and the other is still peeing for England and asking why it happens, where wee-wee comes from and whether he thinks it will ever stop.
Matteo frowns, his face full of concern. ‘What are the children doing here? There’s a strict no-children policy this week. Birdie’s family were very explicit about that. There are too many priceless antiques and irreplaceable artifacts lying around.’
I shrug, mystified. ‘I have no idea. The last I heard she was all for running away and leaving them with the in-laws. I’ll go ask. Maybe they are staying nearby?’
Matteo swallows. He knows that every single hotel between here and North Korea is fully booked.
By the time I’ve made it downstairs, the staff are showing the family into the reception room. Cherry and Dom are told to help themselves to any drinks from the bar. The head butler apologises for the lack of staff.
‘Don’t you worry, pet,’ Cherry says, eyeing the large crates of Lovington sparkling wine stacked high in the corner.
‘We’re more than capable of pouring a few drinks.
Lord knows, I’ll need them.’ She smiles politely at him before bellowing angrily, ‘No, Peaches! Don’t touch!
What does Mummy say? Do not friggin’ touch! ’
We all follow her gaze. Two-year-old Peaches has yet again lifted up her pretty pink dress, pulled down her pants and is complaining that her butthole is itchy.
She points to show her parents where exactly the itch is.
Cherry emits a gigantic sigh. ‘Dom. You deal with her while I change Clem.’ Cherry walks over to her oldest daughter and pulls her by the hand.
‘Can you show us to our room please?’ she says in a defeated tone to the butler.
‘And sorry about these two.’ She points to her daughters.
‘But we’re trying to do gentle parenting. And it’s a lot harder than it looks.’
The butler nods politely but remains tight-lipped. ‘This way, madame. We weren’t informed that any…’ He struggles to get the word out. ‘…any children would be staying this week.’
‘They’re not a pick of bother, I promise,’ Cherry assures him. ‘You’ll barely notice they’re here. Put that down!’ she says, using her stage voice, which can carry for miles.
The butler clasps his chest, blinking rapidly as he relieves Clementine of the delicate porcelain horse that she’s picked up from a display table.
‘Hi, Cherry,’ I say, walking towards her.
‘Thank God,’ she declares, hugging me. ‘I’ll never survive a whole week with these three. You pour the margaritas and I’ll be down in ten. Make mine spicy. Dom can stay in the room with the girls and unpack.’
‘Did you forget there’s a no-children rule?’ I whisper in her ear.
‘No, I didn’t forget,’ she hisses back. ‘But you try telling your family you’re leaving them to spend Christmas living it up in the lap of luxury, in the south of France, at a billionaire’s chateau.
After a solid week of weeping and wailing and tantrums and refusing to speak to me, I couldn’t bloody stand it any more. ’
‘Poor bairns,’ I say softly, glancing down to Clementine and Peaches. It sounds as though they were distraught.
Cherry follows my gaze. ‘Not them. They couldn’t give two shits whether I’m here or not. It was all him.’ She jerks her head towards her husband. ‘He had a proper meltdown over it.’
‘Well, Birdie’s family are away so maybe they won’t find out until it’s too late.’ I’m not in the slightest bit confident but Cherry seems desperate.
‘At least it’s saved us having to buy shitloads of cheap plastic toys from China for the girls to open and discard in favour of playing with the boxes they came in.’ She brightens, clutching at the positives, just as her husband walks over.
‘Hi, nice to meet you,’ I say, holding out my hand.
Dom barely has the strength to reciprocate.
He gives me the limpest of handshakes. He is dead behind the eyes.
I take in his wonky attempt to smile and his hunched shoulders.
He looks like a deflated version of himself. Have Cherry and the girls broken him?
Cherry bustles her family out of the room to follow the butler and the two staff who are lugging their many suitcases.
Liberty sweeps into the room seconds later. ‘Was that Cherry and the kids I just heard?’
I nod.
She groans. ‘How were Clem and Peaches?’
I swallow hard before answering. I feel it is only right and proper to be polite about other people’s children. ‘Fine. They seem completely… erm, well, erm…’
Liberty nods. ‘Feral. I know. They’re a real handful. I babysat once.’ She shakes her head in a way that suggests she will be permanently scarred from the never-to-be-repeated experience. ‘I thought she wasn’t allowed to bring them?’