Chapter 19
When I eventually rocked up at Supreme Serenity Spa, I was feeling neither supreme nor serene. In truth, I was decidedly queasy and green. And on top of that, nearly an hour late. This was the very last thing I felt like doing with a raging hangover and a tongue as dehydrated as cracked sandpaper.
When I announced my presence to the bored-looking receptionist, I was informed that Jocasta was already in her robe and poolside. It took me longer than I had anticipated to get undressed and into my fluffy towelling robe, as any sudden movement was having an unfortunate effect on my gurgling stomach. Nice and gentle movements were the order of the day, it would seem.
I shuffled around slowly, stooped and with my head down, like an old granny in her housecoat who had got lost on her way to the dining room in the nursing home. When I eventually joined Jocasta at the edge of the swimming pool, I was more than ready for another lie down before I fell down.
I sank down gratefully onto the cream padded recliner next to hers.
“Sorry I’m late, it’s just been one of those mornings.”
I gave her the friendliest smile I could muster in my current state, which she returned with a tight-lipped one of her own.
She was elegantly sprawled on the neighbouring recliner, wearing the most ridiculous oversized sunglasses, designer of course, that made her look like a bug-eyed beetle.
She was sipping a flute of prosecco, and as she turned towards me, her heavy gold necklaces made a clanking sound that reverberated in my brain. I really needed quiet in my current state. And why was she dripping in jewellery anyway? We were in a prefab spa area, attached to the main hotel and golf club, not on a tropical island in the midday sun doing a photoshoot for Vogue.
“That’s OK.”
She raised her sunglasses so I could see from her sharp green eyes that it was clearly anything but OK.
“At least you’re finally here now.”
She had her toffee-coloured tresses piled on top of her head in a chic updo. I couldn’t help but notice she was wearing a full face of slap too. Granted, I had applied a thin layer of tinted moisturiser and the briefest swipe from my mascara wand, but that was just so I didn’t scare the neighbourhood children. In my current state, it was fair to say I wasn’t looking my best.
But she was done up like a dog’s dinner. Much more suited to going clubbing with her girlfriends. It was ridiculous and overly excessive for an afternoon at the spa. All that powder and paint would be sweated off and languishing in her armpits within an hour or so.
She made a sweeping gesture around the perimeter of the pool.
“Just ask one of the attendants milling around to get you a prosecco.”
Her voice had a rather bossy, privileged tone to it which set my teeth on edge in my current state.
The thought of more alcohol made my liver contract in terror.
“No, that’s going to be a No-secco for me.”
I gave a weak laugh and tried to quell the nausea that was threatening to take hold.
“I think I’ll just stick with something soft.”
She eyeballed me again, her sunglasses perched on the end of her nose now, giving the impression of a haughty librarian ? well, one that lurks around the erotica section anyway.
“You do look a bit rough. Maybe get yourself one of their revitalising smoothies?”
I picked up the laminated drinks menu from the table beside me, and cast a glance down the list of health-giving elixirs. There was a Virgin Bloody Mary, but I decided against that, straight off the bat. A Bloody Mary without a good healthy slosh of vodka in it was just a bloody shame.
I decided on the ginger and ginseng smoothie. It sounded just the ticket: ginger for my gurgling tummy, and ginseng for my battered immune system, all swirled together with a gigantic slug of health-giving vitamins in the fruit juice. Just what the doctor ordered. Well, not my own GP, obviously: Dr Webster was more likely to order a nip of whisky, a couple of codeine and a long nap. He had never really bought into the holistic way of thinking, but considering he had been the family GP for decades, he must be doing something right. He was as fit as a flea, even if that flea had a faint whiff of single malt and extra strong mints about it.
I stifled a yawn as I gave my order to the eager waiter. He was dressed in the tightest trousers I had ever seen, but considering that all the other guests dotted around the spa appeared to be women, I figured he must be working on tips. I could clearly see the outline of his tip as it was.
I settled back on my lounger. A nap would be a jolly good idea right now. Perk me up a little and allow the alcohol to sweat out of my pores as I snoozed away. I had just closed my eyelids and felt myself gently drifting off when the waiter was back with my drink.
I took it from him with a smile, determined to look anywhere but at his trousered area. I settled back again and took a long slug of my drink. It really was unbelievably vile. Something that bad must be doing me some good. It tasted like soggy garden in a champagne flute. It was a very unappealing shade of green, like Kermit the frog had gone for a spin in the blender. It also had a few redundant pieces of herb stuck to the side of the glass for effect.
After yesterday and the blue drinks, which were sumptuous compared to this slop, I really had been drinking a rainbow of colours recently. I bravely forced myself to take another little sip of the gloopy beverage. Yes, it really was as bad as I had first thought.
“It’s so nice to be away from the office for the afternoon, don’t you think?”
In my hungover haze I had briefly forgotten that I was here with Jocasta. Damn it, I was going to have to make small talk with her.
“Yes, it makes a lovely change.”
I smiled weakly. It was true that I was glad I wasn’t behind my desk in the office at present. The way I was feeling, I didn’t imagine I would be at all productive. Unless you counted chucking up into the wastepaper bin a good way to spend the working day.
Neither did I want to be here though. In truth, what I wanted was to be back home in bed with the remote control in my sweaty hand, a serial killer documentary on the TV and my body weight in ultra-processed food for company. Now that would be heaven.
Jocasta giggled in an annoyingly girlish way that just made me want to dump my drink and throttle her. I had long ago realised that I was not the most tolerant of people when suffering with a hangover.
“I’m just so happy that you’re here, Lila. I’ve been dying to talk to you for ages. I’ve just got so much to tell you.”
“You do?”
This was surprising. We weren’t exactly bosom buddies. And despite Seb’s protestations to the contrary, I still believed deep down that she disliked me as much as I did her.
“You’ve known Seb a long time, haven’t you?”
Oh no. She wanted to talk about Seb. My Seb. I didn’t think I would be able to handle it. Not in my current state. I wished I had her sunglasses now, so I could hide my emotions behind them and remain seemingly cool and aloof.
I was worried that if we talked about Seb, there was a real possibility I might start blubbering again like I had last night. And that just wouldn’t do. I would rather have talked about work, the weather, anything, even discussed how I still wasn’t in Fluck’s good graces. She could have teased me about that. How Fluck was still getting stick at his Golf Club about the fashion show fuck up, anything but talk about Seb. I just didn’t think my poor heart would be able to take it.
I took a deep steadying breath before answering her.
“That’s right, we’ve been friends for years. He’s been my rock at times, someone I could always rely on, and I like to think I’ve been the same for him when he’s needed me.”
She smiled. It was tight-lipped and forced and her voice was nearly as sour as my drink.
“Well, isn’t that nice? But you don’t need to worry about him so much now, as I’ll be the one looking after him.”
I felt a jolt of apprehension run through me. This was supposed to be a pleasant afternoon, but I felt myself bristle. It seemed as if the warm temperature in the spa had suddenly dropped by a few degrees. I didn’t want to talk about Seb, but she did. However, she clearly didn’t want to hear what I had to say on the subject.
Jocasta was smiling now, apparently warm and friendly again, but I wasn’t convinced.
“I know you two are good friends, so I feel I can open up to you about him.”
I sipped my drink again. It was still just as vile, but preferable to speaking. I was worried that words would fail me, or worse still I would fill up again. And I wasn’t prepared for this little madam to see me cry. She had Seb, she wouldn’t get my dignity too.
“He’s an absolute angel, my Seb.”
She let out a long-contented sigh and took a delicate sip of her prosecco.
I was beginning to wish I had ordered some hard liquor after all. I felt my heart contract in my chest as if I had been physically punched. Her Seb. It was more than I could bear.
She sighed again.
“He’s so dishy now that I’ve given him a bit of a makeover. Who knew there was such a hottie under all that polyester? He really is a dark horse.”
She giggled and pushed her sunglasses down from her eyes so hers could meet mine, clearly keen to gauge my reaction.
“Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but that’s not the only equine thing about him, if you catch my drift.”
She gestured with her hands to show that his package was impressive too.
Oh, I caught it all right. And I wanted to chuck it right back in her smug little face. Her subtlety wasn’t lost on me. She was saying that Seb was hung like a horse.
“And let’s just say that the man is extremely talented.”
She gave a little coquettish wink to let me know exactly what she was getting at.
I didn’t know how I was expected to react upon hearing her allude to their hot sex life. I knew she wanted a reaction but I hoped my face was as neutral as I believed it to be, because in reality my heart was breaking into little pieces.
I loved Seb. I knew that with complete certainty. But now, hearing that he was also blessed in the britches and that was something else I was missing out on, it was like rubbing salt in the wounds.
Jocasta made a little zipping gesture across her lips to signal she might have said too much.
“I won’t say another word. I want to save any blushes.”
I took another sip of my drink. I could barely taste it now. I had a far worse taste in my mouth from what she had been saying.
She gestured to the attendant for a top-up of her prosecco.
“I’ve booked us in for a nice massage in about half an hour, so we can just chill here for a bit and chat some more.”
This was my cue to shut her up.
“That would be lovely, Jocasta, but I’ve got a bit of a headache so I think I might just close my eyes for a second and hope it passes.”
I really didn’t want to hear another word about their love life and whatever exploits they got up to in or out of the bedroom. It would just bring my mood down even more, and quite possibly bring my noxious green drink back up too.
So thankfully that was all that was said on the topic of Seb.
It ended up not being an entirely bad afternoon after all. And certainly not the nightmare I had anticipated.
I managed to have a lovely snooze on my padded recliner. It was as comfortable as my divan at home, and I drifted off to the land of Nod in a mere nano-second. And dozing away for a while perked me up marvellously. I would have happily slept for longer, but was alerted to the fact that our massage was due by a sharp poke in my shoulder from Jocasta’s manicured finger.
I believe I may have drifted off again during the half-hour massage. The magical hands and the soothing voice of the masseuse worked as well as a big mug of cocoa and a Nytol to send me back off to sleep. I felt so blissfully relaxed and was beginning to feel thankful that I had agreed to the afternoon. It had turned out that my earlier words had indeed been true, and it had made a lovely change.
After the massage we enjoyed a quick dip in the pool, and then some time in the sauna. It was the perfect end to the afternoon for me, as I could literally feel the vodka and toxins from the previous night’s festivities sweating out of my pores in rivers.
As I reclined, rosy-skinned and relaxed, in my towel, I sighed to myself, feeling calm and carefree for the first time in ages.
We had chatted at length about her relationship with her ex, Simon. He sounded like a particularly nasty piece of work. She had been with him for eighteen months and he had controlled every aspect of their lives together for most of that time. Even down to what she could wear and who she could see.
He constantly criticised her about her appearance and took pleasure in putting her down whenever the opportunity arose. He clearly felt it was perfectly acceptable for him to live exactly the way he wished, including dating other women.
It had taken enormous courage for her to finally break free from him. But in her brokenness, she had had a breakthrough and come to the realisation that only she could save herself. So, she had picked herself up, dusted herself off and forged a new life for herself without him. That took guts, and I was proud of her for her strength and fortitude.
Simon was still hassling her and making her life difficult, any chance he could, refusing to leave her alone, forever lurking in the shadows like the ex-boyfriend bogeyman.
I could hardly blame her for being a bit defensive and prickly at times. She had been through so much. I now saw the woman through very different eyes.
I felt tolerance for her that I had never previously allowed. Us women really need to stick together against those types of men. Men who somehow feel more visible and validated in the world if they are slowly diminishing and destroying another human being. They really are the lowest of the low.
I felt bad for my criticisms of Jocasta’s style and way of presenting herself too; for thinking her too provocative and overtly sexy. Maybe in her mind it had been one way for her to assert herself and take back control.
After the break-up, she had free rein to be her true self once more, and so what if she embraced that with wild abandon? It would be completely understandable that she should want to shake her dowdy wardrobe up after too long living in conservative knee-length styles in shades of beige and grey. It was understandable she might go a little overboard. She was finally free to show off her femininity, and so what if that included thigh-length slits and low-cut tops? Who was I to judge?
In truth, I felt quite ashamed of myself. I had decided that I disliked her pretty much on first clapping eyes on her, and woe betide anyone who tried to change my mind. Both of us had been so combative towards the other. But who could blame her for being guarded after what she had been through? She’d seen other women as competition and not to be trusted.
I was finding myself feeling increasingly protective towards her. Almost motherly. Her story with her ex reminded me of how Lottie’s life had been: never feeling good enough; always waiting for the next insult to come; never physically hurt, but attacked by the cruel sting of words, which could often wound like a slap and leave a bruise etched on the soul.
Once we’d talked about her ex until there was not much left to say, we had lightened the mood with general chitchat: what movies we’d seen at the cinema, what books we’d enjoyed, that sort of thing.
And when we eventually said goodbye with a hug, all fresh-faced and rejuvenated, I strongly believed that we were in a much better place. Seb had wanted me to build a bridge with Jocasta and get over the past; and I knew that we now had. I wouldn’t go so far as to say we were the best of buddies, but we were certainly on our way to becoming friends. And that was good enough for now.
It was dark by the time I unlocked the door to my house. The quietness of the interior hit me as soon as I entered. It didn’t get me down, though. I was feeling happier than I had when I had hurriedly rushed out a few hours before; in fact, happier and more positive than I had in ages. And it wasn’t just the sauna and the massage that had given me such a happy glow.
Overall, I was feeling much more optimistic. I just had an inkling that life was going to get so much better from now on.