Chapter 16
‘What is the date today, Bella?’ Monica asks me as we sit in the cook tent, sipping coffee after the breakfast rush.
‘And what date did Jock say you had to meet him if you wanted to have a life with a rich and famous rock star?’ Monica asks.
‘I told you Mon, I’m not going. It said in the paper that he was in a relationship with Vanessa, remember? Even if he does want me now, he was cheating on her with me then. The man made me orgasm in public while he was with someone else. I can’t forgive that,’ I state firmly.
‘Most women would give their left tit to have a guy that can get them off in the ocean,’ Tara comments as she sits beside me on the bench seat.
‘You’ve changed since you started taking tours to Monaco, Tara,’ I smile at my protege.
Although she floundered a bit, having been thrown in at the deep end when I was having my breakdown crisis, Tara has joined me three nights since.
The first time, she shadowed me and took notes.
The second two, she took the reins, and I gave her feedback.
‘You really are a natural with people, Tara, the clients love you.’
‘Thanks, Bella,’ she beams. ‘Can I have your job then when you leave to be with Jock tonight?’
‘For the final time, I’m NOT going,’ I thump my fist on the wooden table to emphasise.
‘Not going where?’ Brain asks as he joins us for his morning coffee.
‘Bella thinks she’s not going to meet Jock tonight,’ Monica fills him in.
‘That’s because I’m not. Can we get Tim in here so I can tell him, too? Then we can drop the subject.’ On cue, Tim emerges from the dining area of the tent, pours himself a coffee and joins us.
‘Did I hear you say you came in the ocean?’ Tim asks.
‘Well, at least that’s a different question,’ I smack my palm against my forehead in frustration.
‘Just out of interest,’ Tim continues, ‘how exactly did he do that? I’m asking for a friend.’
Heat starts to rise up Monica’s neck. She’s blushing.
‘You two can figure it out, I’m sure.’ I look from Tim to Monica and back to Tim.
‘I was asking for a friend,’ Tim tries again lamely.
‘Who’s in tonight?’ I ask to change the subject.
Monica drags the A4 diary in front of her and looks at the entry. ‘Looks like it’s Liza, and a Spanish driver. It’s that new tour code. The tour that starts in Barcelona has two nights there, then two nights here. Then it goes to Lyon or something. Bit of a weird one.’
‘Oh, that’s right, she mentioned she was on a two-night stay next time when she was last here. That’s the only tour tonight, right? I’m not on again until tomorrow when the one-night stay tour is here?’
‘Correct.’ Monica confirms.
‘Awesome. I’ll be able to catch up with her tonight here and maybe see her in Monaco tomorrow night.’ I say, happy in the thought that it will keep me distracted tonight. Liza’s company and my body weight in alcohol.
The day stretches out like melted tar on the campsite driveway.
Every time my mind flicks involuntarily to Jock a shock of visceral pain zings my body.
As I’ve done for the last few days, I quickly change my brain’s direction to lessen the pain as much as possible.
I might be suddenly fascinated by a plant I’m passing, or stop a stranger to ask the time or where they are from.
As this happens about a thousand times a day, I’m feeling generally exhausted.
The evenings are worse. The drive to Monaco brings flashbacks of the first time we met or our first kiss.
The memory of the sensation of icy cold peach gelato on my tongue and my hand warm in Jock’s as we walk hand in hand by the marina, sea like melted emeralds sparkling beside us is so real I could touch it.
I haven’t dared to venture to Loews. I found out where Brain hides during his hours waiting for the group, an underground coach park.
It’s like a secret society for drivers. They stand around in their polo shirts, walk-shorts and comfortable shoes, talking about things like the best place to get diesel.
I begged Brain to let me hang out with him the first night I came back.
He didn’t seem too keen, but given his big heart and my broken one, he could hardly say no.
Each night since I’ve sat quietly inside the darkened coach, in a dimly lit underground parking lot, listening to the drivers banter until it’s time to meet the group, get them back to the campsite and head to the bar.
Drowning my sorrows until the wee small hours doesn’t make them less, but a headache is also a distraction for a while each day.
5 pm
The sound of a coach rolling in pulls me out of my cabin. Sliding sandals on my feet, I stroll out to meet it.
‘Hi Liza!’ I greet the dark-haired tour manager after she’s handed her microphone to Tara, who bounds up the coach stairs to welcome the group with frog-in-a-sock energy.
‘Hey Bella! So good to see you,’ she greets me warmly with a kiss on each cheek. ‘Before I forget. I picked it up at the airport before I flew to Barcelona.’ She reaches into her shoulder bag, pulls out a newspaper and hands it to me.
‘Thanks,’ I smile, tucking it under my arm, wondering briefly if the print with transfer to my white linen shirt given the amount I’m sweating already. ‘Any exciting news in it?’
‘Honestly, babes, this tour has been so nuts, I haven’t even had time to open it. I’ve got a Spanish driver. He’s definitely fuckable but he speaks about four words in English. Shall we go straight to the bar?’ She asks, linking her arm with my arm that isn’t cradling the newspaper.
‘You don’t have to ask me twice,’ I agree, peeking into the coach to check out her driver.
‘Hola hermosa,’ he calls to me, smiling and waving.
‘Holy fuck, he is hot!’
‘Told you so, now let’s go get a cold beer.
’ Liza. ‘Joaquín,’ she calls to get her driver’s attention.
‘Eat,’ she mimics eating, ‘6.30 pm,’ she holds up six fingers, then three fingers, and then makes a zero with her thumb and forefinger.
Before using the same forefinger to point to the cook tent.
‘Now, me, drink.’ She points to the bar and then drags me towards it, leaving Tara to sort her passengers into their rooms. ‘Fucking hard work,’ she sighs.
I find a tall table in the shade for our pre-dinner drink.
While Liza gets our beers, I scan the front page of the Daily Mail dated August 3rd.
The headline is a photo of the new Prime Minister, Tony Blair, with his wife and three children, who look like they’d rather be anywhere else, outside 10 Downing Street.
A smaller article at the bottom tells of Frasier actor Kelsey Grammer (43) marrying a 29-year-old Playboy model.
I give it 10 years, tops, I think, as Liza places a pink of lager in front of me, I fold the newspaper and push it to the side of the table.
‘So what’s happening with you?’ Liza asks as I take a long chug of icy beer.
‘Oh, not much. Work, sleep, repeat,’ I smile before taking another long drink.
‘Come on, Bella. You don’t think the fax machines have been running hot all over the Terrific Tours circuit, spreading the news that you’ve been shagging Peter Piper?’ She places a comforting hand on top of mine, giving it a gentle squeeze.
‘Here comes your fuckable driver.’ I point to Joaquín sauntering into the bar, shirt unbuttoned to his navel, showing off a very defined set of abs. He collects a large glass of red wine and disappears into the shadows, buying time before I reply.
‘I had to stop him buying a wine at the lunch stop, no clue that it’s not okay to have a drink then drive a busload of litigious American princesses,’ Liza sighs. ‘So… back to you… spill…’
Over another beer, I share with Liza as much as I can bear.
I fell in love with a rock star who I didn’t know was a rock star, and he was either cheating on me or with me.
I’m not sure which one, but at the end of the day, all he’s done is prove what my ex and my father have already taught me: men are unreliable.
Brain ambles up to the bar, buys a lemonade and heads our way.
‘Hi Liza, nice to see you again. Hey Bella, can I read the paper while you’re chatting?’ He asks, reaching for the precious English newspaper.
‘Sure,’ I smile and watch him head to a nearby table in the sunshine and start reading.
6 pm
‘Time for one more beer before dinner, I reckon,’ Liza announces. ‘Then, I’m going to tell you about the time I shagged a Swiss army soldier inside a mountain in a snowstorm.’
‘This is going to be good!’ I loosen my shoulders and take a sip of the beer Liza has placed in front of me. My 3rd? 4th? Who’s counting?
‘So… she lowers herself closer to the tabletop and closer to me like she’s about to share a state secret, ‘his name was Koch, Alois Koch.’
I can’t help but giggle, small at first, then the giggle grows into full-blown laughter, and my body shakes.
It feels good, like I’ve never laughed before.
Liza joins in, laughing with me, ‘Alois Koch,’ I snort.
Our laughing is brought to a halt by Brain shouting, ‘Holy Fuck, Bella. You’ve GOT to read this. ’
‘Can’t it wait, Brain?’ I ask. ‘Liza is just about to tell me more about Koch.’ I snort again, and laughter comes in wave after wave over my body.
‘No, it can’t,’ Brain’s voice is serious as he lays the newspaper flat in front of me and points to an article on page 5.
RETRACTION
This newspaper would like to officially apologise to Peter Piper and Dreamstreet.
In a previous story, we inferred that lead singer Peter Piper was in a relationship with a stylist called Vanessa. We acknowledge that we did not fact-check information given to us via a paid tip-off.
We acknowledge that while Peter Piper employs a stylist named Vanessa, she is neither tall, blonde nor in a relationship with Piper.
We have been asked explicitly by Peter Piper to print that he is, in fact, ‘in love with a beautiful, flame-haired lassie from a village near him in Scotland and that he hopes to spend the rest of his life with her’.
This newspaper apologises for any hurt caused by this error to Peter Piper, his family, friends and Dreamstreet.
‘What’s the fucking time?’ I hear myself screech.