Barely Yours (15 page)

Two secrets: one good, one bad. I’ve
got
to tell Will about my visa. Just sit him down and explain that I’m sorry, I got carried away with everything that was happening, I forgot and I didn’t think, and now I’m in trouble with just a single month remaining until I need to leave the country.

And I think Brian’s right. If I just plucked up the courage to explain the situation to Will, maybe he could help. Maybe he’d know a way that it won’t be a problem. I doubt it though. When I applied they were pretty strict about this being a one year only thing. But help from Will is my last option.

And the other secret? I’m actually really excited about this one. I loved it so much when Will surprised me with the trip to Paris, so I want to do something for him, too. My budget doesn’t quite stretch to private jets and a suite in a five star hotel, but I’ve been saving extra hard and I’ve booked us two train tickets to Brighton and a night in a really cute little hotel.

So it won’t be Michelin starred dining, more like fish and chips on the beach, but I can tell he’s not the kinda guy who’s only impressed by money. So I’m pretty sure he’s going to like it. I’ve booked Tabby’s sitter for the weekend, and everything’s set.

Now I’m just nervously pacing the kitchen with my bags packed, waiting for him to come home.

At six o clock on the dot, I hear the door open, and sure enough Will’s back. I’m so excited. I want to rush up to him and immediately tell him what we’re doing, but I know it’s even better to surprise him and play it cool.

So I force myself to wait in the kitchen, and soon enough he strolls in.

“Darling,” he says. “It’s so good to see you.”

And he’s about to walk over and kiss me, when he sees the overnight bag packed by my feet.

“What’s this about?” he says, confused and maybe even slightly alarmed. “Where are you going?”

“I’m
not going anywhere,” I grin. “But
we
however are going to Brighton for the weekend!”

“What?” he says. “What about Tabby?”

“Don’t worry,” I say. “It’s all arranged. I’ve booked Tabby’s sitter all weekend. And I’ve even arranged a play date with the twins from number 87. I know we were talking the other day about making sure that she doesn’t end up a spoilt only child. I hope that’s not too presumptuous of me?”

“No,” he says. “Not at all. It’s really thoughtful. The whole thing sounds wonderful. What time do we leave?”

“The taxi’s picking us up to take us to the train station in twenty minutes,” I say.

“Fantastic,” he says. “But so soon? I’d better hurry and pack my bag!”

“No need,” I say, pointing to the tan leather overnight case by my chair. “It’s all taken care of. I hope you don’t mind but I took the liberty of packing it myself. And I’ve gotta say, Will, it was kinda difficult to find anything suitable for beach casual in your wardrobe. All you’ve got is hundreds and hundreds of business suits! I did find
one
pair of shorts, and if the weather holds I’m gonna force you to wear them. And I’m making a mental note to take you shopping after this weekend, too.”

“Okay, okay, I admit it,” he laughs. “I’ve rather let the fun side of life slide for the past few years, I’ve been so focussed on work. But with you in my life now, I’m definitely going to need a few more casual outfits from hereon in.”

He kisses me on the lips, but my heart sinks a little at his words.
With you in my life now
. Because of course, he doesn’t yet know that I’m about to tell him that that might not even be the case – that I’ve been a stupid careless child and messed up our chances of being together, just because of the mess I’ve made of my visa.

§

Our last trip away was by private jet, while this one is by the 7:15pm Southern Rail service from Victoria station to Brighton. The sheer contrast of these two trips makes me smile. I wonder how long it’s been since Will’s been on a normal train like this – in
economy class
, no less – so I decide to tease him a little about it.

“Come off it,” he says, “I’m a really busy guy. Most of the time, I would
lose
money if I relied on train timetables. I’m a Brit remember, we invented the railways, we love trains, but for me, they’re definitely more about pleasure than business, and this is certainly all pleasure,” he adds, squeezing my arm and kissing my cheek.

“Ooh, that reminds me,” I say. “I couldn’t resist popping into Marks & Spencer when I picked up the tickets just now, and I’ve got some treats for us ...”

The first thing I pull out is a bag of candy. I still can’t get over how great British candies – sorry
sweets
– are. You guys take them so seriously, but I can see why, your selection is always amazing.

“I discovered these the other day and they’re just
heavenly
,” I pronounce.

“What are they?” he says.

“Percy Pigs!” I exclaim. “And before you ask, no, I don’t feed your daughter these on a regular basis – strictly for treats only. Oh, and I got something else for us on a whim ...” I add, pulling out two slim silver cans.

“Look what I saw!” I say. “
Cans
of gin and tonic! I’ve never seen anything so English in my life.”

I pass him one, and the look on his face is all I need to know, to make me realize I’ve made a pretty huge mistake.

“Not for me,” he says, “but please, don’t let me stop you.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” I croak, blushing to my roots, as I quickly hide both cans back in my bag again.
How could I have been so stupid?
“I’m not the kind of girl to drink on my own, on a train.”

He can obviously sense my embarrassment though, and to lighten the mood he reaches for the candies. “But I could murder a Percy Pig!” he laughs, tearing the bag open, taking out a jelly pig and passing me one, too.

He seems to know just what to say, so I still don’t know why I’m so nervous about telling him my big bad secret. This isn’t the right time though, but soon, soon. I promise.

§

We check in at the hotel, which is this adorable little boutique place by the seafront. Nothing too fancy, but you can tell they’ve made a real effort to make the place look special nonetheless. All the rooms are themed, and ours is themed like a 1950’s boudoir. It’s so cute and fun: all these kitsch knick-knacks everywhere you look, and in the middle a huge pink bed. It’s definitely not a place Will would have chosen in a million years, but he obviously loves how adorable it is. 

“This place is so funny, Chrissie!” he laughs, looking around in amazement. “However did you find it?”

“I did some research on the internet,” I reply. “Why? How do
you
find all the amazing hotels that you stay in?”

“To be honest,” he blushes, “I get my assistant to do the research. But not Paris. I booked that one myself. I chose it because I knew you’d love it. And I love this too,” he adds, drawing me to him in a huge hug. “Really. I feel like I’m going to relax this weekend. I was a little apprehensive about the idea at first, but now I’m really looking forward to putting my shorts on!”

“Whoa, there,” I laugh. “Not too soon. This place may well be laid back and relaxed but I’m still not having you wearing shorts to dinner. That would be a step too far ...”

“Speaking of dinner,” he says. “I’m starving. Where are we going?”

“I haven’t actually booked anywhere yet,” I announce. “I thought we’d try a bit of what we Americans call
spontaneity
. Ever heard of it? How about we just go for a wander and see where we end up?”

“Spontaneity?” laughs Will. “Now
that’s
certainly a word I haven’t heard in a while, and certainly not something I’ve learnt in business. But I sure like the sound of it. Come on, let’s go.”

So after quickly running a comb through my hair we hit the streets, and wow! Brighton is just adorable; full of cute, tiny little streets packed with brightly colored shops and restaurants and cafes. And the people! The people are amazing. Just as individual as the place they live in. We pass punks and goths, and people dressed in all colors of the rainbow – it’s clearly a place for true eccentrics to congregate.

After a while, we come across a trendy-looking pizza place and at the same time, we both decisively say to each other, “Pizza!” and head inside.

It’s a buzzing, vibrant neighbourhood place, decorated in a stripped back, modern style, with a select menu of delicious-sounding pizzas. We grab a table and I excuse myself to head to the bathroom.

Alone in the toilet, I take a deep breath. Is
this
the night I say it?

I know I should.

I know that’s what this whole trip was about, right?

But do I really want to ruin such a perfect night?

It’s so great to watch Will relax and unwind in front of my eyes. I guess I’ve never really thought before about how stressful his life must be. He works long, hard hours, and running your own company like that must be so stressful.

And even our last trip away – he planned all of that, and it was perfect. Doesn’t he deserve a perfect weekend away, too?

I won’t tell him tonight, I decide, but maybe tomorrow – walking along the beach. Maybe
that
will be the right time ...

§

“What’s this?” I say, as I return, pointing at the flute of golden fizzy liquid, there on the table in front of me.

“It’s a glass of champagne,” he says.

“But ...?” I reply, taking my seat.

“I wanted to apologise for my behaviour on the train,” he explains gently. “I didn’t mean to be so rude. It was a kind and thoughtful gesture, and I realised that we’ve never really spoken about my feelings towards alcohol.”

“No,” I say. “I suppose we haven’t.”

And of course, he’s right. Because when I found out about Emma’s accident – about the drink driver that killed his wife – I just
guessed
that that was why he didn’t drink. And I assumed that he hated everyone else drinking, too.

“I made a personal decision to give up alcohol,” he begins quietly. “It was largely because of how alcohol robbed me of my wife, but also because, in the dark days following the accident, I took comfort in the bottle. But luckily, I realised quickly that it was becoming a problem, so I stopped before my behaviour hurt anyone – the way I’d been hurt too. It’s worked for me, the past few years, because I’ve needed a clear head to concentrate on my business and look after Tabitha. And I’m glad I stayed away, because alcohol can be a dangerous false friend to the lonely. I’m not saying I’ll never drink again, but it’s certainly not something I’m interested in revisiting just yet.”

He pauses, letting out a big sigh, like a huge weight has been lifted from him. This is obviously hard for him to talk about, and I feel so honoured that he’s finally opened up to me like this. 

“I should also have mentioned that I have no problem with
other
people drinking, responsibly of course. And you’ve so very kindly abstained all the time we’ve been together. At first I though maybe you just didn’t drink either, but I realised tonight that you’ve been holding back on my behalf. And I don’t want to hold you back in
any
way, Chrissie. So please enjoy this glass of champagne.”

“Thank you,” I say, picking up the glass and taking a sip. “It’s lovely. But you’re right. It’s been so long since I’ve had a drink, this is gonna go straight to my head, so I’d best take it slowly! But most of all, thank you for talking to me, Will. It really hasn’t been a problem staying sober with you, I can promise you that. Honestly, I’m not a big drinker myself. I’ve never liked feeling out of control. But the occasional cocktail or glass of crisp white wine or champagne? I’m certainly not going to turn that down.”

He smiles at me, his handsome features lighting up, taking my breath away all over again, he’s just so damn gorgeous. And I’m impressed by how calmly and gentlemanly he’s handled this issue, too. He’s so ... well, grown up. So why does that make me even more nervous about telling him
my
secret?