Lindsey Kelk 5-Book 'I Heart...' Collection (124 page)

The honesty and intimacy of the moment was just all too much. In lieu of a proper response, I pressed myself against him in another long kiss, then stood with my head tucked under his chin and listened to his heartbeat. I was a rubbish grown-up.

Alex kissed the top of my head and placed a huge hand on each of my hips.

‘Bed.’ He cocked his head towards the hallway. ‘Now.’

This time it wasn’t a question.

The first thought that ran through my head eight hours later was, I wonder what’s on the buffet this morning. The second was, why do I feel like shit. And the third was lost under a tumbling weight of the three thousand other things that were determined to send me mad. Rolling over, I looked for Alex to make it better, but he wasn’t there. Damn giant memory-foam mattress. I took his absence as an opportunity to attempt to make myself look faintly more human, grabbing face wipes from the side of the bed and repeatedly dabbing day-old mascara away from under my eyes. Finally able to focus on the world around me, I noticed the piece of paper on my bedside table.

Headed back to the hotel. Call me later. A.

He had thoughtfully left his phone number after hearing the tale of the drowned BlackBerry, but wouldn’t it have been more thoughtful if he’d, I don’t know, stuck around until I woke up? For a moment I thought about being annoyed, but it seemed too much like hard work. Also, I caught a glimpse of the alarm clock and it was past twelve. He probably had plans. With Jeff.

Jeff.

Jenny.

Jenny and Jeff.

Oh cock.

As much as I did not want to, I forced myself out of bed and into the lounge. Jenny’s shoes had vanished from the hallway and been replaced by Sadie’s, and a room-service trolley sat quietly in the corner, pretending it wasn’t there. I almost turned around and went back to bed, but an out-of-place blanket on the sofa caught my attention.

‘Hi.’

The top of Jenny’s head peeped out from under the covers, her rebel curls giving her away.

‘Morning.’

I stood stock still, arms folded, brain quickly trying to decide what expression to adopt. Was I supposed to be mad? Sympathetic? Did I want the details? No. No, I did not want the details.

‘So we have to be at the heliport thing at two.’ She shuffled out from under the blanket and stretched like a dying cat. ‘I cannot think of anything I would rather not do than get in a helicopter right now, but—’

‘We’re going in a helicopter?’ I was awake. And easily distracted. ‘Really?’

‘I meant to tell you last night,’ she nodded, rubbing her eyes far too hard for someone over thirty. ‘Erin organized it as a Christmas gift.’

Lovely Erin. I was going to have to give her that scarf after all. And a hug.

‘Yeah, so we need to leave in like, half an hour?’

‘Jenny?’

‘Angela?’

‘What happened last night?’

She stood up, wrapped one arm around the opposite shoulder, showed off her best yoga stretch, then did the other, looking me in the eye with a shrug.

‘Nothing.’

Well.

‘Nothing?’

‘Apart from you getting in touch with your inner Gaga?’

‘What happened with you?’

‘Nothing happened with me.’ She actually laughed. ‘I wasn’t the one who decided to take up pole dancing then eff my boyfriend behind a curtain.’

‘I didn’t actually eff anyone,’ I replied, desperately trying to suppress the memory of the pole dancing. That was going in the vault. But really? She was just going to pretend it didn’t happen?

‘Relax.’ Jenny gave me a quick passing hug as she headed into the bedroom to get dressed. ‘It’s Vegas, it doesn’t count. Crazy shit goes down.’

Colour me gobsmacked.

Apparently so, I thought. Like me pole dancing, meeting movie stars in the gents and a bit of selective amnesia.

The ride out to the heliport was more awkward than an awkward thing. Sadie, oblivious to everything as per, talked about herself and her fabulous evening dancing with James Jacobs (who she was sure wasn’t really gay because of the way he kept looking at her – I just couldn’t be arsed to burst her bubble) and how wonderful she felt. I suspected pharmaceutical intervention; there was no way someone could drink the way she had been drinking and still be so bloody chipper. Jenny encouraged her with the odd enthusiastic noise, but spent most of the car ride staring at the scenery, bottle of Vitamin Water permanently attached to her right hand, mobile phone to her left.

I stared at Jenny through very dark, very big sunglasses, ready to leap out of my seat at any moment and yell ‘J’accuse!’, but I didn’t. I was mad at her for cheating on Sigge. I was mad at her for sleeping with a man who was engaged. But mostly I was mad at her for lying to me. I was hurt. My sensible voice, which weirdly often took a similar tone to Louisa’s, reminded me this wasn’t about me. Maybe she was genuinely hurt and confused and just wasn’t ready to process what had happened out loud.

But then my more judgemental voice, which sounded not at all weirdly just like my mother, pointed out that she had lied to my face and I had every right to be angry. I didn’t know what to do. Maybe Jeremy Kyle was on Twitter. He’d know. It didn’t help that the righteous indignation voice was much louder and more persuasive when accompanied by a soundtrack of Sadie and an increasing headache.

I looked at Jenny and sulked. I wished I had some Vitamin Water.

After the longest car journey in the history of man, we bundled out of the car into blazing sunshine that was disturbingly cold and were led into a small boxy office, given unflattering to everyone-alive-except-for-my-two-friends jumpsuits and made to stand on a scale. As if I didn’t feel bad enough.

‘OK, ladies.’ A young man in shorts, T-shirt and trainers stood in front of us chewing loudly and visibly. ‘This is what’s going down. My name is Cody. We’re gonna fly out to the Canyon, circle around a little so you can take some pictures, and then we’re gonna set down, take a little walk and head back. Should be about two hours. Now, concerns? Questions?’

I only had one.

I raised my hand.

‘Are you the pilot?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Cody replied with a curt nod.

All of a sudden, I didn’t feel terribly happy about the helicopter. Pilots were like doctors. They were supposed to be older than you and always wearing a suit. Or at least proper shoes. And they were almost certainly never called Cody. They had respectable, no-nonsense names like Peter or Brian or Colin. I bet no one called Colin ever crashed a flying vehicle. Anneka Rice never got into a helicopter with someone chewing gum. And if Anneka didn’t do it, I wasn’t doing it.

‘I can assure you I am full-trained, ma’am.’ He winked at me. Not helping. ‘Eight months’ professional flying and no fatalities.’

Eight months?

‘Hey, as long as he’s never crashed it, right?’ Jenny rested a hand on my shoulder. ‘It’s fine.’

‘I didn’t say I’ve never crashed one, just no fatalities,’ Cody said, laughing heartily. ‘Now, let’s get you ladies strapped in.’

Sweet Jesus, this was how I was going to die.

‘Uh, Angela?’ He pointed at me. I raised my hand obediently, much to Sadie’s amusement. ‘You were the heaviest, so you’re in the back.’

Always a delight to hear.

‘And then Jenny? You’re in with Angela. Sadie, you’re in the front with me.’

I chose to ignore his gooey expression and just hoped he was still able to keep this thing in the air with an erection. Sadie flashed him a smile and did this annoying little thing with her shoulders. It wasn’t quite a shrug, it wasn’t quite a shimmy, but it successfully displayed her boobs to full effect and simultaneously pissed me off.

Once we were inside, we were issued with headsets and microphones and informed this was how our pilot, bloody Cody, would communicate with us and how we would communicate with each other. I made a bet with myself as to how many pop culture references Tom Cruise would get in during the journey. I hoped for Airplane!, anticipated Top Gun. I was never terribly keen on being fastened into anything, so allowing a man who made jokes about crashing helicopters to strap me into a helicopter immediately before he flew it over a canyon did not make me feel good. I’d been so excited at the idea of the trip and then so annoyed with Jenny, I hadn’t really thought about the reality of buzzing around the skies feeling like shit. I’d never been in a helicopter before. I was a good flier, after my second drink, but this was something very different. Plane plus a gin and tonic equals a happy Angela. Helicopter plus several pints of vodka the night before equals a very unhappy, incredibly nauseous Angela.

As soon as we were in the air, it became a me-against-the-world fight not to puke. And I was not going to lose. I’d done all the public puking I had any interest in doing. In fact, not vomming outside my own bathroom was going to be one of my New Year’s Resolutions. Along with not being deported, getting an iPhone like the rest of the world and always having some kitchen towel. We never seemed to have kitchen towel. Something that would have come in incredibly handy at that precise second as the helicopter lurched forward, as did the contents of my stomach.

‘You OK?’ Jenny asked.

‘Do I look OK?’ I replied.

She pulled an ‘ooh, handbags’ face and settled back into her seat, staring out of the side of the helicopter. I tried to do the same, to gaze out onto the natural wonder of the desert, the golden crevices beneath us. But all I could think was, what a silly place to bury Megatron, there are all these natural giants’ steps he could use to escape. It was testament to just how shit I felt that my brain couldn’t accept that Transformers was not a documentary. And so while we flew around one of the world’s natural wonders in our own private helicopter, while Jenny and Sadie oohed and ahhed, while the pilot played the theme music from Top Gun, I closed my eyes, rested my forehead against the cool glass and patiently waited to land with my eyes closed.

It took another fifteen minutes before I had the balls to look out of the window. It really was beautiful. All the colours of a Bloomingdale’s autumn catalogue – brown, gold, bronze, tan and deep, deep reds, highlighted with a little green here, a ribbon of blue there. Clearly I had been friends with Jenny for too long.

‘Hey, are you OK really?’

She gave me a nudge and a concerned look. But the concern felt fake and the nudge just made me retch. Again. Right, enough was enough.

‘No,’ I snapped. ‘I’m not OK. Are you OK?’

‘I’m fine?’ She looked at me as though I’d gone crazy. Charlie Sheen crazy.

‘Really?’

‘Yes?’

‘Uh, guys, you know we can hear you, right?’ Sadie’s voice crackled through our headphones.

Unfortunately for Sadie and Cody, I didn’t give two shits.

‘Nothing you want to tell me?’

‘No?’

‘Really, Angela, we can hear every word.’

‘Piss off, Sadie. Nothing?’

‘Nuh-uh.’

‘Right.’

‘OK, then. Jesus.’ She turned back to the view and took her phone out of her bag to read a new message. A message I could quite clearly see was from Jeff.

‘Give me that phone.’ My arm shot out entirely of its own accord and grabbed for Jenny’s iPhone, but she was not giving it up.

‘Uh, ladies.’ Cody’s voice piped up in my headphones. ‘It’s usually best not to fight in a helicopter.’

‘Get off me, you psycho.’ Jenny gave as good as she got, struggling against her seatbelt to bash me on the top of the head with the phone. Double insult. Before she could get in a really good swipe, I turned away, slapping my hands in the air as though I was doing the doggie paddle. Except, instead of water, I was doing it in Jenny’s face. It was only fair that she try to defend herself. It was just unfortunate that defending herself redirected my slaps into the back of Cody’s head.

‘Holy shit!’ he yelled. ‘This stops or I’m turning this bird around.’

Just like my dad on the way to Alton Towers. He’d never do it.

‘What is wrong with you?’ Jenny shoved her phone deep into the bottom of her bag. ‘Seriously? Are you drunk right now?’

‘I know you shagged Jeff,’ I bellowed at the top of my voice, right into my mic. ‘I know you did, all right?’

The feedback shrieked through our headsets before I’d even finished screeching: Sadie and Jenny scrambled to protect their ears. Cody visibly clenched every part of his body and the helicopter swerved and dropped ever so slightly. But ever so slightly was just enough to push my poor stomach over the edge. Before I could grab for a sick bag, before I could hold back my hair, I puked all over Jenny’s shoes. Thank God they were closed-toe.

Not nearly soon enough we were on the ground, just by the edge of the Grand Canyon, and I was curled up, head on knees, happy to be on solid ground. Jenny, on the other hand, was not so happy.

‘Jesus, Angela?’ she yelled. ‘These are Tory Burch.’

It was never a good sign when she raised her voice at me.

‘Sorry,’ I mumbled. I wasn’t sorry. I was pissed off.

‘You thought that was a good time to talk about this? In a fucking helicopter?’

‘Not especially,’ I admitted. ‘But you didn’t seem very chatty earlier when you were merrily telling me nothing was wrong.’

‘So I wasn’t ready to talk about it.’ She threw her arms up in the air, blocking out the sun. Even her silhouette was furious. ‘I don’t have to tell you everything that happens in my life. I don’t actually have to tell you shit.’

‘That’s nice.’ My sensible voice told me she was just lashing out because she was hurt. My mean voice told me she was a right old bitch who needed a good slap. ‘Thanks.’

‘Don’t start with that tone, seriously.’ She kicked a rock over the edge of the cliff. I took it as a warning and shuffled back a little. ‘Don’t start judging me. I’m sorry my life isn’t as perfect as yours, but sometimes things don’t go according to plan.’

‘Are you kidding me?’ If I’d had a goat, he’d definitely have been got. ‘You’re telling me things don’t go according to plan? As if this is news to me?’

‘Whatever – you know all this shit is going to work out for you.’ She was shouting far too loudly for Cody’s liking. It was interfering with his staring at Sadie as if she were a chocolate-coated FA Cup trophy. ‘Alex is going to ride in on his white horse at the last minute and marry your ass so he doesn’t have to do his own laundry, and everything is going to be OK.’