Chapter Seven Bella
Chapter Seven
Bella
Rarely have I felt less like a person who belongs at a yacht party than I do right now, but no one else seems to notice.
I’m not sure whose birthday it is, exactly – a vague friend-of-the-family situation.
I want to say someone called Miranda or Miriam?
Maybe one of Mum’s old business acquaintances, or a pal from the golf club.
All I know is that we’re bobbing in the dock, three decks of strangers wearing pastels and enough sunscreen to make everyone’s skin gleam, even beneath the goosebumps.
The boat is so big that it’s disorienting – a kind of floating hotel with function rooms, a half-hearted dance floor, little alcoves crowded with people, and above it all, the gentle sway you only notice when you try to walk in a straight line after too many glasses.
Reece couldn’t make it and I tried to cry off too, but Mum wouldn’t take no for an answer.
She wanted to show me off to all her friends.
It didn’t help that she was late – a meeting with her pensions advisor, or something – so Dad and I had to keep each other company for half an hour while smiling at people we’ve never met before.
But now that Mum’s here, she’s already disappeared into a knot of Pilates acquaintances.
Dad is in the engine room with the only other two men present who give off the vibe of people who could plausibly operate a mechanical device, and I’m left on the upper deck with a clutch of partygoers I vaguely recognise from school, all of whom seem to have become more physically attractive and successful since I last saw them. School reunion, but with sea legs.
I keep checking my phone, waiting for the notification to tell me that Harriet – who’s supposed to be letting me know about the possible business investment – has finally replied.
I’ve established an elaborate superstition in my head that if I let the battery drop below 50 per cent, I’ll somehow jinx the whole deal, so I’m obsessively rationing every swipe and scroll, glancing at the percentage in the top corner like it’s a countdown to destruction.
There is, of course, no message from Harriet.
My hands are shaking in a way that I blame on the wind, but when I try picking up a canapé, it wobbles on the napkin.
I want to tell my parents about the investment – how close it is, how it could actually change everything – but the prospect of opening myself up to their scrutiny, or their disappointment, makes me want to leap overboard.
I think I’ll wait until it’s a done deal.
No point mentioning anything if it all ends up falling through.
My stomach twists. If it does fall through, that will be even worse than a confrontation with my parents.
The party is now in full swing, and I wonder how long I have to stick around here.
Will anyone notice if I just slope off? Some joker has put on ‘Come On Eileen’ at a punishing volume, and a group of women in nautical stripes and blinding white trainers are dancing and clapping along, as if the song is some kind of naval anthem.
I drift to the rail to get away from them, staring down to where the dock is quickly becoming crowded with overlapping shadows and the occasional burst of laughter.
My phone buzzes, and for a moment my heart judders, but it’s just a pointless notification about the weather.
I look at it anyway. ‘Unseasonably cold’, it states, which feels like deliberate trolling.
Out of nowhere, my old school friend Tori leans in next to me. She now works in media marketing – or marketing media, it changes each time we meet – and she’s already noticeably tipsy, her blonde hair blowing horizontally as she tries to light a cigarette.
‘Bells, I swear to God I saw you down on the dock earlier.’ She squints at me over the tiny flicker of her lighter.
‘Hi, Tori.’ I lean in to kiss her cheek and get a mouthful of hair instead. ‘Didn’t know you were going to be here. Glad you are though.’
‘You too. Bloody weather.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘So, like I said, I saw you on the dock.’
‘Well, yeah. I had to walk across the dock to get on to the boat.’
‘No, but it was weird,’ she says. ‘You looked odd.’
I nudge her with my shoulder. ‘Thanks a lot!’
‘Hang on, stand there, so I can light my ciggie. This weather.’
I move to block the wind. ‘I looked odd?’ I frown. ‘Odd how?’
‘I don’t know, Bells. You were just standing there like a lemon. Like you were worried about something.’
‘I’m always worried about something.’ I give a self-deprecating laugh.
She shakes her head. ‘No, but your hair was different, and your clothes . . .’ She trails off, studying my hair, as if trying to match it with what she saw on the dock.
‘Sounds like it was probably someone else.’
‘Could have sworn,’ she mutters, and offers me a drag of her cigarette, which I take, even though I’ve never liked the taste.
I nod towards her glass of champagne. ‘How many of those had you had when you saw “me”, Tori?’
‘Um, a few.’ She grins. ‘Ignore me, I’m actually pissed as a newt, in case you couldn’t tell.’
My phone pings again, and I jerk it out of my pocket, but it’s not from Harriet. I try to ignore how my hands are definitely shaking now, cigarette or not.
‘So, what’s new with you? How’s the property game?’ she asks. ‘Whatever happened to those flats you were flipping?’ She pouts and tilts her head. ‘Can’t believe you’ve turned into such a little business tycoon.’
I swallow down acid and brush off her question with a flick of my wrist. Thankfully, Tori’s attention is already wandering back to the cluster of bodies near the bow, where another chorus is kicking off.
She asks if I want another drink, and I say, ‘Sure.’ While she’s gone, I gaze out over the water again, expecting to be steadier, but instead my legs feel soft and my head is full of static.
Tori is gone for longer than it takes to get another drink, but then I spy her in the midst of a group of forty-somethings, bellowing out the chorus to the Human League’s ‘Don’t You Want Me’.
I retreat to a quieter part of the rail and look down at the dock, and, for a moment, I think I see myself. Just for a second, standing hunched at the water’s edge. But when I blink, it’s just a coil of rope and a trick of the light, nothing more. I need to get a grip.
I stand there with the dregs of my drink, listening to the party echo above and behind me. I get another weather alert, of all things, and then, finally, a message from Harriet. But it’s agonisingly brief: Can you talk?
My stomach drops, giddy and terrified at the same time. I look for somewhere quieter, but the whole yacht seems to be awash with noise. I duck down the nearest staircase and find myself in a corridor lined with family photos and nautical kitsch. I call Harriet, and she picks up on the second ring.
‘Hi,’ I say, going for breezy, but coming off as strangled.
‘Bella?’
‘Hi, yes, this is Bella.’
‘Great. Thanks for calling me back.’
‘Hi, Harriet. Can you hear me? Sorry, it’s a bit noisy here.’
‘Yes, I can hear you fine.’ Her voice is professional but friendly. ‘I wanted to tell you myself.’
My heart races. A passing waiter nearly collides with me, and I have to curb the urge to snap at him.
‘We were very impressed with your presentation, but after further scrutiny . . . I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to pass on this occasion.’
‘Pass?’ My stomach drops.
‘We’re grateful to you for giving us the opportunity, though, and we’d like to wish you all the best for the future.’
I lean back against the wall, utterly deflated. ‘Can I just ask how you came to that decision?’
Harriet sighs, and there’s a silence as though she’s weighing up what to say. But then she inhales briskly. ‘We decided to go in a different direction, that’s all.’
I’m not stupid. I understand that’s code for we don’t want to get into it. ‘Okay,’ I reply. ‘Well, thanks for letting me know.’
‘You’re welcome, Bella. Take care.’
‘And you.’
The line disconnects.
I stare at the phone for a long moment, and then glance around. It’s only when I see my reflection in a gilt-edged, full-length mirror – hair all wind-messed, expression blank – that I realise I’m still clutching Tori’s cigarette, burnt out between my fingers.
I stub it in one of the handily placed ashtrays, pocket the phone, and try to steady my breathing. I can’t believe I was worrying about how to break the news to my parents that I was going to be bringing in investors to the company. When the alternative is so, so much worse.
Back on deck, the party is peaking. Everyone is up, arms around each other, swaying and singing off-key, a brief interruption of the usual British reserve.
I try to slot myself back into it, but there is an invisible wall now, some membrane between me and everyone else, and I have no idea how to cross it.
I know I should give up and go home, but the thought of returning to my empty apartment is too depressing to contemplate after tonight’s disappointment.
And I’m not in the mood for Reece’s optimistic spin on everything.
Along with the heavy feeling of dread, Tori’s earlier observation about seeing me looking ‘odd’ has somehow got under my skin, even though I know it’s probably just a combination of her having drunk too much, along with her overactive imagination.
I shake it off and decide to find her. Maybe I can salvage the night and try to have a bit of fun.
The rest of the evening passes in a blur of shouted conversation and awkward dancing, with Tori occasionally staring at me with a look I can’t quite decode.
At some point, I accidentally spill prosecco on someone’s boat shoes and apologise so profusely that it becomes a running joke for the rest of the event.
I smile and nod and laugh, even though my mind is in a dark pit.
I wish I could rewind time. I wish I hadn’t been so ambitious.
All I wanted to do was make my parents proud.
I thought branching out into the property development market was such a smart move. Clearly not.