As Weekends Go (Choc Lit) (21 page)

‘Mmm. I did detect some tension between them though. I think Alex despairs of some of his dodgier habits.’

‘Yes, I did notice. Mind you, compared to his uncle Eddie and Marina, Kenny’s quite sensible.’

‘Ha! That night will be forever etched in my memory.’

They rocked back and forth, erupting with laughter.

‘Kenny was telling me that Alex is staying with his parents in Leeds for a couple of days,’ said Abi. ‘Reckons his mum spoils him and his brother rotten. Home comforts, freezer full of food, the works.’

‘Ah, that’s nice. Alex did tell me quite a bit about his family.’

Abi’s phone beeped. ‘Shit!’

‘What is it?’ said Rebecca.

‘Nick’s landed early. Sorry, Bex, but I’m going to have to love you and leave you. He’s on his way back from Stansted. I didn’t realise the time. It’s flown! I’ve still got masses to do this afternoon.’

‘Hey, no worries. He’s taking you out tonight. Go on … get going, woman!’ They both leapt up from the breakfast bar.

‘Listen,’ said Abi, gathering up her bag and walking down the sun-dappled hallway. ‘Let me know how it goes with Greg tonight. He needs to know how unhappy you are.’

‘Yes, miss,’ said Rebecca, saluting her off.

She shut the front door behind her.

Ten past two.

Best make a list for Pearl’s party, or Greg would be home before she knew it.

But then Greg called her to say that his plans had changed. He’d now be travelling up to Manchester that evening in order to attend a 7.30 meeting tomorrow morning. Could she please pack two white shirts in his usual holdall, plus a spare pair of socks, boxer shorts and his toiletry bag, and lay the newest of his navy blue suits on the bed, as he’d be flying through the door at sixish for all of half an hour, before shooting off again. No mention of Rebecca’s request to talk to him whatsoever.

Her mum then rang, detected the strain in Rebecca’s voice, and started fishing for an explanation. Instead of briefing her about York, Rebecca made the mistake of telling her about the holiday postponement.

‘Cancel Cyprus?’ her mum had shouted. ‘I’ll give him bloody cancel Cyprus when I see him, Becky.’

‘Oh, Mum, please don’t say anything. It’s Pearl’s party on Saturday. Let me deal with it,’ Rebecca had countered, thankful that she hadn’t also mentioned Nina O’Donnell.

By the time she put down the phone, her head was swimming. Sod Pearl’s list. A bit of Paul Weller was called for.

She plucked the CD from her handbag, walked into the lounge and slotted it into the sound system and was fine until track two came on.

‘Wishing on a Star’
.
The song she adored. The same song she’d heard playing in Alex’s car when he’d driven them home from the nightclub.

If Shirley next door hadn’t rung on the doorbell, she’d have sat there all afternoon, daydreaming. Poor woman must have thought Rebecca was on happy pills or something.

‘Yes, York was lovely, thanks, Shirley. Another quiz? Yes, of course I’ll do another quiz for you. Pearl’s party? Yes, of course you’re invited to Pearl’s party. Bake two quiches for it? Yes, of course you can bake two quiches for it.’

The Alex Heath/Paul Weller combo inspired Rebecca to conquer Pearl’s party list, too. She even remembered to note down Greg’s Aunt Flora’s penchant for Dubonnet. And when she’d finished doing that, she returned all the phone calls they’d received.

It was while she was sorting out Greg’s travel bag that her guard slipped, everything he’d said to her last night, or
not
said, slamming into her like an avalanche; his casualness, his persistent lack of regard for her. The way she felt right now, it would be better to wait until after Pearl’s party to speak to him. She’d need a calm, measured approach, not hysterics. Imagine the atmosphere otherwise.

Maybe him going to Manchester tonight instead of tomorrow morning was a blessing.

Revellers Retreat. The perfect antidote for the stress Rebecca had taken to bed with her the night before.

She, her older sister and her big, cuddly bear of a brother-in-law, Will, large and loud in every sense, from his bush of a beard to his size fourteen feet, had not stopped laughing since Rebecca had arrived at the shop two hours ahead of opening time which, in Will’s case, tested the shatterproof glass to the max.

‘Remind me again whose idea this was?’ said Rebecca, dissolving into another round of giggles as Will wrestled an inflatable palm tree into place, knocking over their red-stripey costumed Victorian male bather mannequin into poor Lorraine, who fell headfirst into the deckchair.

‘Right, that’s it!’ Lorraine struggled to catch her breath for laughing. ‘Let’s leave Bex to do the rest on her own. You and I are an utter hindrance,’ she said to Will, shoving him backwards.

‘There’s not much to do now all the main props are up,’ said Rebecca, trying not to sound too eager in her agreement. ‘Hula skirt and garland for our female tropical mannequin, flip-flops and beach balls, which I can easily position, which just leaves the sea effect.’ She reached behind her into her canvas nautical shopper bag on the window shelf and took out several net pouches packed with small stones in varying shades of blue, plus a bag of assorted shells, all of which she’d ordered online once Lorraine had confirmed to her what she wanted.

‘Oh, I love those little pebbles, Bex,’ said Lorraine, sliding a pair of sunglasses onto the tropical mannequin, having sent Will off to make them all a brew.

Rebecca scattered them onto their makeshift beach – an area of sandpaper she’d already laid on the base boards – spreading them out, overlapping some, so they resembled water, before dotting the shells in and around the remaining ‘sand’ along with a couple of yellow acrylic starfish she’d borrowed from one of her own garden displays.

Lorraine dashed outside to view it all from the street, giving Rebecca a smile to warm her heart, as did a passing delivery man.

Rebecca cleared the shelf of any packaging and clutter and gingerly eased herself past the props, back onto the main floor of the shop, peeling a square of Blu-Tack off her jeans that she’d knelt on.

Lorraine came through the door and gave her a massive hug. ‘I can’t thank you enough. It looks amazing!’ She kept her arm around Rebecca’s shoulders. ‘Just quickly, before Will comes back with the drinks, how did York go? Did you manage to relax a bit? I was so worried about you at Mum’s last week. We all were.’

And there it appeared in Rebecca’s mind, as plain as if he were standing in front of her – Alex’s face, with that delectable smile of his.

She fixed her gaze on a bunch of snazzy patterned helium birthday balloons at the back of the shop.

‘York was great. I’m glad I went,’ she said. Then, before Lorraine could delve any further, she pointed to the balloons. ‘I know you owe me for the stones and shells, etc, but I need some of those helium foil balloons and some ordinary ones, plus some seventieth birthday banners for Greg’s mum’s do on Saturday, so can we do a trade-off?’

‘Pick whatever you want. You can take them with you today if you like? You can have the already-inflated helium ones or the packs with the DIY cylinder and nozzle. You know what you’re doing, so whatever suits you best.’

‘Thank you.’

They heard the clatter of teaspoons.

‘Break time!’ boomed Will, lurching into view with a tray of steaming mugs and a jar of chocolate chip cookies.

Rebecca left soon afterwards, noticing as she sat in her car and checked her phone before starting the engine, that she’d received a text from Abi. Could she please pop over to Rebecca’s for a couple of hours straight from work this evening?

‘Nick’s asked me to marry him,’ said Abi, arriving at the house just after six, sporting a diamond solitaire ring and a bottle of Prosecco.

Rebecca ran up and down the kitchen, nearly screaming the place down. ‘That’s fantastic!’ She smothered Abi in kisses. ‘Let me get us some glasses.’

Abi popped the cork. ‘I know. I couldn’t believe it. He went down on one knee in the middle of
The Imperial Garden
last night. I’ve been dying to tell you, but I wanted to do it in person.’

Rebecca filled two flutes. ‘The ring’s out of this world. When did he get it?’

‘When he was in Fuengirola,’ said Abi, settling into her usual spot at the breakfast bar. ‘We haven’t set a date or anything, but one thing I do know is that I want you to be my chief bridesmaid.’

Rebecca scrunched up her shoulders. ‘I’d be honoured.’ She clasped her hands together under her chin, joy illuminating her face. ‘I’m so pleased for you. Nick’s such a nice guy. I take it this means you’ll be moving in together?’

‘Yes. He’s going to put his flat on the market. After that, who knows? Three-bedroom house? Four? I suppose it depends how many kids we decide to have. He’s coming over later, so maybe we’ll make a start, eh?’

Rebecca quashed the tiny prickle of envy jetting through her.

‘Congratulations,’ she said, chinking Abi’s glass.

The next hour and a half was spent talking weddings, eating the spaghetti bolognese Rebecca made them, and quaffing bubbly – Abi only having one glass as she was driving.

Even Rebecca’s non-conversation-as-yet with Greg didn’t dampen the mood, with Abi agreeing that, on reflection, waiting until after Pearl’s party to talk to him was the smartest move.

After Abi left, Rebecca received a call from Greg moaning about how he’d spent half his day listening to various people bore on about legal guff, during which time he’d drummed up a play list so large for his mum’s party that she had to get a pad and pen. Most of the stuff they didn’t even have, so now on top of blitzing the house, food shopping, and creating a masterpiece of a birthday cake, she’d have to download an array of Rat Pack tracks.

If Thursday was fraught, Friday morning was frantic. Hot, sticky and peppered with texts from Greg firing off more party instructions, the classic one being him suggesting they might need to buy some extra garden chairs.

They?

Shirley next door came to the rescue on that one.

Flustered but triumphant after braving and surviving the mammoth food shop, Rebecca flopped down on the sofa with a richly deserved cup of tea.

Next up was the booze-run. Greg would be home around 1.30, he’d said.

She flicked on the telly, her fingers curling around the Sky box remote control.

So far today she’d scarcely given Alex a thought. Which was good, wasn’t it?

Maybe just a quick update, eh?

The weekend dawned less stifling, with patchy thunderstorms clearing the humidity. Not that Rebecca saw much sunshine. She was busy preparing party food in the kitchen whilst Greg supervised proceedings from his perch at the breakfast bar.

‘Only two bowls of salad?’ he questioned mid-afternoon, glancing at her over the top of his
Golf
magazine. ‘I’d do three if I were you, love.’ Rebecca could have chucked one of them at him. ‘Salmon looks good though. Make that the centrepiece, yeah?’

‘Greg, I’m not being funny, but it’s three o’clock already. Can you blow up those balloons in the hallway, please?’ She exchanged frustrated looks with Shirley, who’d popped in from next door to help out.

‘I thought we’d got helium ones.’

‘We have,’ said Rebecca, shooing him forth. ‘I just thought it would be nice to hang up some extra bunches and banners in the porch and hallway.’ She saw his face drop. ‘Don’t worry, they’re tasteful.’

He’d already berated her for inviting Shirley. Now he had the cheek to criticise the party shop bits. What with casually announcing this morning that Dubonnet-slurping Aunt Flora and Uncle Vern would be staying over, Rebecca wondered what other little gems Greg had in store for her.

Nina O’Donnell popping out of the cake in a PVC catsuit and gimp mask, perhaps?

Aunt Flora and Uncle Vern arrived first; Flora, all bubble perm and coral lipstick, Vern trailing in her wake with overnight trolley bag.

‘Oh, I say, Greg! Doesn’t she look lovely?’ Flora gasped as Rebecca came downstairs to join them, wearing a midnight blue halter-neck maxi dress.

Greg, suitably attired in dress shirt and trousers, slipped his arm around Rebecca’s waist. ‘Stunning! But then, when doesn’t she?’

‘Oh, stop it,’ said Rebecca, cringing with embarrassment as they all beamed at her.

The doorbell pealed.

Shirley, in lime green taffeta, swiftly followed by Rebecca’s clan brandishing all manner of gift bags and cards for Pearl, who’d yet to make an entrance.

Rebecca held her breath as her mother greeted Greg but, true to her word, she was all smiles, as were Rebecca’s dad, two sisters and brother.

Another intake of breath as Greg’s brother Tim and his wife arrived. Fortunately, they’d brought their two boys with them, who managed to prize the tight smile from Uncle Greg’s face by marvelling at the novelty balloons.

Rebecca smiled to herself as she watched Greg unashamedly lap up the credit for them.

Several of his parents’ friends breezed through the door next, tailed by the birthday girl, dressed in a beautiful red two-piece suit, proudly holding the arm of Greg’s affable, gentle giant of a father.

Copious amounts of mutual fawning ensued between Pearl and Greg, with his dad and brother, as ever, relegated to the sidelines.

Rebecca, by contrast, made sure she welcomed everyone with equal gusto.

By nine thirty the party had swung into life. Most people spilled out into the lantern-strewn garden, clutching platefuls of food, Rebecca was pleased to see. Greg had placed a dustbin full of ice-covered beer cans on the patio, too, which proved popular, as did the Rat Pack tracks she’d downloaded playing in the background.

Abi and Nick arrived, bearing present and card, looking fittingly loved-up.

‘Sorry we’re late,’ said Abi, fanning her flushed cheeks with her clutch bag.

‘Oh, don’t worry.’ Rebecca kissed them both and congratulated Nick on the big proposal. ‘Come through. I’ll get you both a drink.’

Greg was grandstanding when they walked into the garden, telling everyone, in between puffs of his Havana, how successful the conference had been. It wasn’t until after he’d made a speech about Pearl and performed the champagne birthday toasts, that he even acknowledged Abi and Nick’s existence.

Rebecca’s family had made a decent fuss of them both, though, especially upon learning of their engagement, so it cushioned the snub somewhat. Apart from when Greg eventually sauntered over, peered at Abi’s ring, and made a joke about it coming from a Christmas cracker.

‘The sooner you have that chat with him, the better,’ Abi said to Rebecca later, as she and Nick said their goodbyes. ‘He really is irritatingly smug.’

Unlike Alex, Rebecca caught herself thinking, grateful that Nick hadn’t punched Greg through Shirley next door’s fence.

The next morning, after full English brunches all round, Greg drove Flora and Vern back to Haywards Heath, around thirty miles away, giving Rebecca some down time after the mass clean up, before challenging him on his return. Timing-wise, she knew it wouldn’t be great. He’d be tired and crotchety after the late night, but with his increasingly hectic work schedule, she could wait no longer.

Frustratingly, just as he came back, Shirley from next door popped her head in for a post-party round up. Rebecca hadn’t liked to cut her short as she’d been so kind and helpful on the run-up.

After seeing Shirley off, she returned to the lounge, where Greg lay sprawled on the sofa, surfing the sports channels.

‘Thought we’d have a barbecue in a couple of weeks,’ he announced, not taking his eyes off the cricket. ‘Be good to get some of the work crowd in, give those who haven’t yet seen the house a chance to slaver over it. Not that I’m gloating or anything.’ He whipped off his right sock and scratched the top of his foot.

‘Can you turn off the telly, please. I need to talk to you,’ said Rebecca, sitting down in one of the armchairs.

‘Did you hear what I just said about the barbecue?’

‘Yes. But I’ve been bottling this up for months and if I don’t say anything now I’ll go mad.’ She saw his eyes glaze over as he sat up and pressed the TV off button.

Rebecca swept her hands down the front of her denim cut-offs. ‘I don’t want an argument. I just want you to listen to me without interrupting.’

‘Go on.’ Greg tapped his fingers on the arm of the sofa.

‘Firstly, I’m really pleased that things are going so well for you, career-wise, although I am concerned about you and Nina becoming embroiled in a power struggle—’

‘Get to the point, Rebecca.’

‘Greg, please …’ She cleared her throat. ‘Anyway, it’s me I want to talk to you about. Well,
us
.’

‘What about us?’ Greg sighed. ‘You’re not still smarting about us having to cancel Cyprus, are you? I thought I’d explained all that.’

Rebecca felt like she’d been kicked in the stomach.

Determined not to cry, she focused on the glorious stargazer lillies Flora and Vern had brought in with them the previous night, in thanks for letting them stay over.

‘It’s not Cyprus that’s bothering me,’ she said, eventually meeting his disinterested gaze. ‘It’s you! And the way you’ve steamrollered your way through the last eighteen months like nobody else matters.’ She saw his jaw muscles tense. ‘I’m not only talking about you leaving me to deal with the house move, but your total lack of consideration and respect for me, my family, your family, my friends. You’ve become a thorough snob. What happened to your enthusiasm for us starting a family? For my aspirations going forward?’

Greg recoiled as though slapped. ‘Rebecca, do you have no appreciation of what my promotion and this Torrison development has done for us? You’ll have to park all that creative tripe for now. It’s all about networking, networking and more networking. Of course we’ll have kids, but for the foreseeable I need you one hundred per cent beside me, supporting the cause, getting involved with the other wives, the fundraisers, the social buzz. You’re an incredible host. We move in different circles now.’