Summer Daydreams (31 page)
Thank the heavens and all that is good, my allocated Small Business Relationship Manager, Simon North, instantly agrees to lend me the staggering amount of money I’m going to need to put these handbags into production and also the sum for the deposit to book my television slot. I throw in an extra bit for sundry expenses and the total climbs to a dizzying forty thousand pounds.
Simon barely flicks through the contract from Home Mall. He doesn’t even hesitate. I, however, do. By any standards the interest he is charging me is extortionate. Quickly, I do my sums and work out that, even at this rate, it’s still viable and if all goes to plan, will still give us an enormous return on investment. At least when I get my deposit back from Home Mall I can pay off some of the money I owe the bank, which will bring the sum owed down from a puke-inflicting amount to merely nausea-inducing.
I know that businesses do this sort of thing every day and that if I’m going to make it big, then I have to get used to dealing with these kinds of numbers. Although I can rationalise it perfectly, it’s terrifying nevertheless. Simon North must lend out millions of pounds every single day without breaking sweat. My underarms, on the other hand, are damp with perspiration. I sign a form and he shakes my hand. The deal is done. Simon North offers me congratulations. He is smiling widely. I don’t think I am.
I come out of the bank shaking and clutching my loan agreement. The money will be in my bank by this afternoon. I am truly on my way now.
Immediately, I call Tod to tell him my good news. He is delighted for me, as I knew he would be. It pains me that I don’t feel able to call Olly and guarantee the same reaction. So instead of sharing my news with my husband, I head into town to do a few more chores. I buy a few bits for my impending trip to China, then I have a quick celebratory coffee all by myself before I have to go home and organise my entry visa.
When I do, eventually, arrive back at the flat, Olly is sitting on the floor in the living room playing Jenga with Petal. It smells as if they’ve just had their lunch and there are a couple of dirty plates on the work surface, a pan in the sink. Beans on toast would be my guess. I sit down next to them both just as the wooden tower topples over and, in tandem, they tut at me, even though it wasn’t my fault.
‘It was the wonky floor in here,’ I protest. ‘Not me.’ But neither of them looks convinced.
‘How did it go at the bank?’ Olly asks, though the question lacks any great enthusiasm.
‘Good,’ I reply, although I can’t bring myself to tell him exactly how much we’re in hock for now. He’d pass out. Or have a heart attack. It’s giving me palpitations and I’m the one who really wants all this to happen. ‘We’re all set to go.’
‘
You’re
all set to go,’ he corrects.
‘You could come with me,’ I suggest. The thought perks me up. I’m
so
not looking forward to making this trip alone. If I’m honest, I don’t even like getting the train down to London by myself. This is a whole new level of sheer terror. ‘If you want to. Come out to China. I could book you a flight. Do you think you could get another week off work?’
At that, Olly lowers his head.
‘What?’
‘Petal,’ he says. ‘Can you please go and read a book in your room while I talk about grown-up things to Mummy?’
‘I hope you’re not going to shout,’ she replies.
‘We’re not going to shout.’
‘You always say that,’ she reminds him, ‘but then you do.’ With that parting shot, she stomps off anyway.
I wait expectantly. Then, ‘
Are
we going to shout?’ Eventually, Olly responds. ‘I haven’t got a job at the pizza factory any more.’
It takes me a while to process this and I stare at him, open-mouthed, as I do.
No job?
‘What? Why not?’
‘I was sacked while you were in Paris,’ Olly admits.
‘Why?’
‘I put sad faces on all of the mushroom and pepperoni pizzas.’
If this wasn’t such a tragedy, I’d laugh. A lot.
‘Sad faces? They can’t sack you for that.’
‘They can,’ Olly says. ‘They have. Virtually the whole run had to be scrapped.’
‘And your excuse for this?’
He shrugs. ‘I had stuff on my mind. I wasn’t concentrating.’
He
had stuff on his mind!
‘Can’t you ask them for your job back?’
He sighs now. ‘To be honest, Nell, I’m not sure that I want it back.’
‘But that was our main source of income.’ It’s not a case of
want
, the way I see it. We
need
that money to pay our bills.
‘I’ll find something else,’ he says. ‘In the meantime, at least, I’m at home to look after Petal while you go gadding off round the world.’
‘I’m not “gadding off”; I’m finding a factory in China that will make my handbags. I’m not going to be lying on a sunlounger with a colourful drink with a bloody umbrella in it.’ I’m trying to keep my temper under control, but I’ve had enough of Olly trying to undermine my attempts at growing this business. ‘Jenny could look after Petal for us again. Or Constance.’
‘You can’t keep dumping your kid on everyone else,’ he snaps. ‘She’s your responsibility.’
‘I’m well aware of my responsibilities,’ I bite back. ‘Are you aware of yours? I’m not the one who’s lost my job for making sad faces.’
Olly stands up. ‘I can’t do this any more. I’m sorry, Nell. I just can’t. You’ve changed. Nothing is the same. I don’t even know who you are.’
I stand up too. ‘Now you’re being ridiculous.’
‘You have no time for me. Or for Petal.’
‘We’ve just had a great week in Cornwall together.’
‘Did we? All I remember is having to come back early because of your stupid business.’
‘Is that really all that you remember?’ I raise my eyebrow at him. ‘Because I can remember us getting on
particularly
well!’
‘If you’re talking about our one night of passion, which was interrupted by a phone call from “Tod Urban”’ – that mocking tone again – ‘then you’re deluded. There’s no romance between us now, Nell. Is a few days of sun, sand, sea and sex in Cornwall supposed to sustain us for the rest of the year? Before then, when did we last sleep together?’
‘It wasn’t for the want of trying,’ I remind him.
‘Relationships aren’t all about sex, anyway.’
‘They aren’t all about work either.’ He shakes his head.
‘That’s
all
it’s about now. Work.
Your
work. There’s nothing else left.’
‘I didn’t know you felt like that.’
‘Well, now you do,’ he says and with that, he snatches up his jacket and thuds down the stairs, banging the door as he leaves.
Olly walked round and round in circles for hours. He had no idea where he had been or where he was going. The afternoon was morphing into the evening and he knew that he should go back home and face Nell. But he just didn’t want to, just couldn’t.
Instead, he headed to the pub.
The Lord Dodgersley was one of the least salubrious establishments in the town centre. More commonly known as The Dodgy Arms, its floorboards were bare, the walls painted a deeply unattractive shade of matt black, the once bright-red sofas jaded and stained. But it was always busy and had a great atmosphere – until the fights started. Its main attraction was probably down to the fact that it sold cheap beer and vodka shots. Always popular with the young crowd. And also the cause of most of the closing-time brawls, of course. At night there were always people spilling out onto the pavement even in the depths of winter. Now, on a hot, end of summer evening, the place was heaving. There was a courtyard with patio umbrellas that was filled with business types who looked like they’d sloped out of work an hour early. They were all in high spirits and chatted loudly, all trying to outdo each other. Olly knew that if he sat out here, they would very soon get on his nerves. All he wanted was to blend in with the crowd and drink himself into oblivion.
He ordered a pint of beer from the barman, then found himself a corner in which to hide and settled in for the evening. Let Nell wonder where he was. Let her stew. She’d texted him a dozen times, but he’d let them all go unanswered. It was childish, but that was just how he felt. He wanted her to worry about him, to not know what he was doing or who with.
A couple of hours in and he was several beers up. The world was feeling fuzzy round the edges. He ordered lasagne and chips and more beer and wondered if Nell had made any dinner for him and if it was dried up by now.
When he’d eaten, a brash group of girls came barrelling into the pub. They were skimpily dressed, out for a night on the town and you could hear them cackling even over the noise of the music, which wasn’t exactly set at an ambient volume. The hardcore evening crowd was arriving and that meant it was probably time to go home, even though his head still wasn’t straight. He’d tried to think this afternoon, think about his relationship with Nell, what was happening to them, why they constantly seemed to be at odds with each other when, previously, they’d been perfectly happy. But his brain was just a swirling mass of unconnected thoughts and no progress had been made.
Olly downed his drink and stood up, ready to fight his way to the door. Not literally, he hoped. It was then that he realised he was a bit more unsteady on his feet than he’d thought.
‘Hey.’
Looking up, he saw that Jenny was standing in front of him. He hadn’t seen her since the week she’d looked after Petal. The week that they’d shared a kiss. If Jenny was thinking about that, then she didn’t show it.
‘Hi there,’ he said. Did it come out slurry?
‘What are you doing here, drinking by yourself?’
‘Just needed a bit of a binge,’ he confessed. ‘Off home now.’
‘Don’t rush away,’ Jenny said, her voice urgent. ‘Not now I’ve just got here.’
‘Looks as if you’re up for a big night out.’
‘Nah.’ She laughed. ‘Just a few bevvies with the girls. Got to blow off steam sometimes.’
‘Yeah,’ Olly said. ‘Tell me about it.’
‘Come and meet them,’ she said. ‘They’re a great bunch.’
‘Not really in the mood, Jen. I need to get back.’
She slipped her arm through his. ‘The night is young, Olly Meyers, and so are you. Live a little.’
He felt as if he had already lived far too much.
‘One drink,’ she cajoled. ‘Just stay for one drink.’
Knowing when he was defeated, he held up his hands. ‘Just the one,’ he said. ‘I’ll buy.’
‘Don’t be silly, there are six of us. I’ll stand you a round.’ She pulled him over to her friends. Except for Jen, they all looked more orange than was good for a woman. They also looked as if they’d walked through an explosion in a Rimmel factory before they’d arrived. It was clear that the natural look wasn’t what they were aiming for.
Jen introduced him to them all and he instantly forgot all of their names. It had been a long session. Longer really than he’d intended. Before he knew it, a line of vodka shots appeared in front of them.
‘Down in one,’ Jen said with a giggle.
This was a bad idea as he’d already lost count of the amount of beer he’d drunk. He knocked it back anyway. Another row materialised. Then another. And possibly another.
The noise got louder, so did the music. Someone was telling bad jokes to the accompaniment of women laughing raucously. Then he realised it was him. Definitely time to go.
He downed whatever drink was in front of him. ‘Outta here,’ he said to Jen.
‘Nooo.’ She pulled him to one side, away from her friends. Before she’d had time to bat her false lashes, she was pressing up against him, his back against the wall. Jen, it was obvious, had quickly caught up in the drunken stakes. ‘Don’t go,’ she pleaded. ‘Stay.’
‘Can’t,’ he said. ‘Can’t.’
Then her lips found his. ‘We could leave now,’ she offered.
‘Together.’
Her mouth was warm, soft, tempting. He could feel himself drowning in the sensation.
‘We could go back to my place,’ she whispered in his ear.
‘Now.’
Jen’s fingers roved over his chest, toyed with the buttons on his shirt. He opened his eyes and the seedy pub swam into view. Was this what he wanted from his life? To be drunk and snogging someone other than his wife? Someone who may be desperate for his body but, then again, could just be desperate for
anyone
?
‘Stay the night with me, Olly,’ she cajoled. ‘You know you want to.’
But did he? Did he really want to?
‘Nell would never need to know.’
But
he
would know.
He
would know that while his wife was at home worrying about him, while his child was sleeping soundly, he would know what he was doing.
He
would know that he was having loveless sex with someone he barely knew. In that moment, clarity hit home. This wasn’t the answer. This wasn’t the answer to anything.
‘No.’ He eased Jenny away from him. ‘I need to go home. To Nell.’
Jen’s face fell, then her soft, sensual mouth hardened. ‘She doesn’t love you like I would, Olly. She takes you for granted.’ Nell did take him for granted. He couldn’t argue with that. But he took her for granted too. Wasn’t that what you were supposed to do when you were married? Weren’t you supposed to take it for granted that the other person would always be there for you whatever you did?