The Spa Day (9 page)

‘Have you ever considered Pilates for personal problems of
this nature?’

We both laugh, and for a few seconds I feel better, like a
weight has been lifted. He looks at me carefully, as if he’s deciding what he
can say that won’t turn on the waterworks again

‘Well! There’s nothing I’ve ever been through that’s similar
to that, so I can’t really give you any advice based on experience. But I’ve
been out with girls who’ve fucked me over, who’ve cheated on me, who’ve treated
me in ways that I would never have treated them. I guess everyone has at one
time or another. I’ve split up with girlfriends and then regretted it
afterwards and I’ve made mistakes with girls – going out with the wrong ones,
going out with some of them long after the magic had gone for god knows what
reason.’

Blimey – how many has he been out with? Mind you, he is very
good-looking and he’s not exactly a teenager.

‘The thing is, Holly, I know I shouldn’t say this to you and
you can report me and I’ll get the sack or whatever, but I feel, well,
compelled. Just listening to what you’ve been saying. It’s really none of my
business, but…’

I smile at him. ‘Oh, go on! I’m leaving here tomorrow
morning. I probably won’t ever come back here again and I certainly won’t
report you to anybody. Unless what you say is really, really bad and
irreparably damages my self-esteem. My people will make sure you never work
again.’

He smiles with relief and takes a deep breath.

‘Well – I don’t know where to start.
 
It seems to me that this guy – Clive – is
royally fucking you over. It’s heart-breaking. You’re funny, bubbly, beautiful
and sexy. But, for whatever reason or reasons, you’ve got this boyfriend,
fiancé whose bloody career or money or whatever it is, is far, far more
important to him than you are. He’s probably convinced you that he’s doing it
for you in some way, or for the both of you, but I think he’s only doing it for
him. He doesn’t have to work or live six thousand miles away from you, but he
does. He’s made that choice, knowing that it would be damn impossible for you
to join him and you’re waiting here like some…fucking…piece of furniture that
he’s bought and put into storage until he’s ready to…use it again, sit on it,
keep his clothes in it or whatever sort of piece of furniture it is. I don’t
even know him and I want to punch him. He’s not a man, he’s a worm. I’m sorry.
That was all off the top of my head. It got a bit sticky with the furniture
metaphor there. Could have been wittier, I suppose…’

‘It was OK. It was quite funny. Not brilliantly funny, but…’

‘You’re not just saying that?’

‘Under other circumstances I’d have laughed slightly.’

‘It’s good that you didn’t. I wouldn’t want the clients
outside to hear laughter coming from in here. I might get a bad name.’

We both say ‘listen’ at the same time.

‘You go first’ I say.

‘Hm. What are you going to do now? For Christmas, I mean.
Have you got family you can go to?’

I mention my sister, but I suppose my lack of enthusiasm
must have been shining through. Both of my parents are visiting my dad’s
brother and his family in Carlisle, so that’s not really an option. James is
pursing his lips together, thinking about something and I think I know what it
is, or should I say what I hope it is.

‘Listen. If you don’t want to impose yourself on any friends
or relatives – and I guess you don’t want to keep explaining yourself as to why
your boyfriend, fiancé thing isn’t with you or what’s been going on with him –
and you don’t fancy staying with his family, and I can’t blame you under the
circumstances, well, if you’ve got absolutely nothing else you can do and you
don’t fancy being alone…’

He scratches his head and looks serious.

‘Sorry. Forget that. I’m temporarily inarticulate. You don’t
know me, but I’m not a psychopath or anything, or at least not diagnosed as one
yet. If you’d like to stay with me over Christmas, you’re quite welcome. No
strings attached. I’ll be out with the camera most of the time, anyway. I’ve
got a spare room with a futon bed in it. I don’t really ‘do’ Christmas very
much, so if you’re interested, you can avoid the whole thing. Just an idea. You
can take it or leave it. I won’t be offended if you say no.’

I think of my alternatives. Trekking up to Carlisle and
being bored out of my skull, the Christmas from hell with Clive’s parents, my
sister’s continuous concerned and sympathetic glances or sitting in my flat,
watching films on TV that I’ve already seen a million times and eating ready
meals and After Eights. Actually, that last bit sounds quite good!

‘It’s very nice of you, but I don’t want you to do this
‘cause you feel sorry for me in some way or other. I could get that at my
sister’s.’

‘It’s nothing to do with that. Really. This is just really
weird for me. I’ve never done anything like this before. It’s just – I just
feel that it’s the right thing to do. Everything about it is right.
D’you
know what I mean? But it’s nothing to do with feeling
sorry for you. It’s miles away from that.’

We look at each other for a few seconds. It seems like an
hour. He gently places a finger under my chin, tilts my head up and kisses me
once, very softly, on the lips.

‘Then what is it to do with?’ My voice is quiet.
Am I shaking slightly? Surely not. He stares past me, a
serious expression on his face, like he’s attempting to put something really
profound and important into words.

‘It’s because it wouldn’t really be Christmas without
Holly.’

I punch him on the chest. We both laugh. In my head, I’m
already working out my next text to Clive and, more importantly, the best time
to send it. Does three a.m. (his time) on Christmas Day sound OK to you?

If you enjoyed The
Spa Day you might also enjoy Yes Chef, No Chef by Susan Willis, also published
by Endeavour Press.

Yes Chef, No Chef

Katie looked at her new black cocktail dress hanging on
the wardrobe door and shivered with excitement - she couldn’t wait for the
party tonight at The Savoy. It seemed forever since she’d spent any quality
time with Tim and hugging herself with anticipation she did a little pirouette
to reach the stool in front of her dressing table. Dreamily she thought of how
the champagne would flow and how they’d dance the night away wrapped in each
other’s arms - surely this would help to get them back on track, she mused,
glancing at the bedside clock and praying he wasn’t going to be too late.

Her mobile rang and when she saw his name on the screen
she snatched it up. “Where are you?”

With a note of wariness in his voice, he said, “I’m
still at the restaurant.”
 

 
“But you rang at
five o’clock to say you were on your way, and the taxi will be here soon.”
Katie exclaimed.

Tim sighed with exasperation as though he was talking
to a child, “I know, darling, and I’m so sorry but Jim phoned in sick at the
last minute and I’m going to have to stay and cover service for him, and…”

“What!” she yelled into the mobile, imagining him
holding it away from his ear and pursing his lips with irritation. She could
hear the clatter of pans from the kitchen and an electric whisk whirling, and
then a girl’s voice calling for him which made her want to scream in
frustration. “Shit, you can’t do this, Tim. Not tonight of all nights?”

“Look, Kate, I can’t just leave the restaurant without
a chef on duty. It’s my responsibility, you know that. You’ll be fine with all
your work mates and friends,” he cajoled, “I know you’ll have a great time.”

But the hurt and disappointment was raging though her
and losing her usual control she snapped, “But it’s my big night and you
promised me nothing would stop you from being there. I mean, it’s The Savoy and
the tickets cost a fortune, and I have my new black cocktail dress…” she tailed
off seething inside.

“Bloody hell, Kate, I’ve more things on my mind than
new dresses,” he shouted, “I’ll give you the money for the damn tickets!”

Tears of dismay were pricking at the back of her eyes.
She couldn’t believe he wasn’t coming and letting her down again.

“Look, I’ll make it up to you later,” he crooned. “And
keep your new dress on so I can see it when I get home.”

Her mouth was dry with anxiety and she only managed to
click her tongue in amazement at his patronising tone.

The noise from the kitchen faded and he said softly,
“Oh, come-on, you’ll still enjoy yourself. Just make an excuse about work
pressures for me and then give them my apologies.”

You can grovel as much as you want, she thought lifting
her chin in defiance, but you’re not getting the upper hand. She managed to
clear her throat and speak in a calm but detached voice. “I’m sick to death of
making excuses for you, Tim,” she said clicking her mobile off.

Her hand trembled while she poured herself a glass of
wine. How could he, she raged, he’d actually gone back on his word again. The
night had been planned for months and it was supposed to be her chance to
impress the new management bosses from the company - everyone was making a
special effort to attend the party to launch the new advertising campaign.
Well, everyone except Tim of course. She’d imagined herself in the classy
cocktail dress walking serenely with her arm through his, chatting confidently
and making polite conversation whilst sipping champagne.

But now she’d have to walk around on her own, she
seethed and glared at his happy smiling face in the framed photograph on her
dressing table. ‘You knew how important this night was to me,’ she hissed and
slammed the photograph face down. She took another mouthful of wine for Dutch
courage and felt a surge of determination sweep through her - she wasn’t going
to let him ruin her night, by God, she wasn’t, she’d go to the party on her own
and shine like she’d never shone before.

 
Looking into the
mirror she swept blusher majestically across her cheeks and admired the hairdresser’s
handy-work with her usual brown mousey hair. The cut was excellent making the
long bob swing effortlessly when she moved her head from side-to-side and the
vibrant dark brown colour emphasised her hazel eyes. With a final nod of
satisfaction she decided her make-up was as good as she was going to get it and
swivelled around on the stool to look at the dress, remembering the day she’d bought
it with her friend, Lisa.

They’d been in Selfridges at the end of an exhausting
four hour shopping trip and just when she was about to give up she’d spotted
it. Plain black crepe in a sleeveless classic style, the dress fitted her
figure perfectly from the moment she slipped it over her head and wriggled it
down over her slim hips.

“Even the two inch length above my knee is perfect for
me,” she’d said to Lisa who’d nodded in agreement.

“It’s just right,
hon
,” Lisa
had said, “Because although you want to show off those lovely slim, tanned legs
you don’t want to look like a slapper in a mini dress. Yep, it’s simple, yet
chic, and just the thing to impress the bosses.”

Katie had hugged her in thanks and then later when her
other close friend, Sarah, joined them she had loaned her a fine string of
pearls and pearl stud ear rings which complemented the outfit perfectly.

Picking her mobile up she pressed Lisa’s number.

“Hey, there,” Lisa said. “How’s the dress look?”

Katie moaned and told her what had happened, and then
held the mobile at a distance ready for the blast of derisory comments.

“The bastard!” Lisa fumed. “What the hell is going on
with this guy?”

In the past she would have defended Tim to the end of
her days but now she simply couldn’t find the strength anymore. “I don’t know,”
she said. “Within the last two months alone he’s missed his parent’s silver wedding,
my cousins’ engagement, and Sarah’s thirtieth birthday party, and that’s
without arrangements to meet after work to see a film or go to the quiz nights
at the pub.”

She could hear the pathetic whine in her voice and
struggled to keep the lump in the back of her throat down. She pleaded, “What
am I going to do, Lisa?”

Lisa’s voice changed instantly as she went into full
support mode. “OK. At the moment you’ll do nothing. You’re going to get to that
party and knock the socks off them. And then on Saturday we’ll meet with Sarah
for lunch and talk it through together and try to sort this crap out.”

Katie swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “You,
know, I could kill him for doing this to me at such short notice, Lisa, and
what makes it worse is that if I’d known he wasn’t coming earlier, either you
or Sarah could have come instead of wasting £150 for the ticket.”
 

Lisa giggled. “Oh, sweetheart, I would have done but I
have a hot date with this gorgeous guy who’s just to-die-for…”

Katie smiled. “And Sarah is out with Mark, too,” she
said. “So, I’ll just have to go to the ball like Cinderella and make the best
of it.”

“Tsk,” Lisa
tutted
. “But you
don’t need him. I’ll admit he would have been an asset to have by your side
because he is so passionate about food and it does make him charming to talk to
but you’ll be fine on your own, won’t you?”

Katie took another deep breath and reassured with
Lisa’s support she agreed she’d be OK with as much conviction as she could
muster.

“Of course, you will,” Lisa replied firmly, “I mean,
you’ve slogged for eight years since you joined the company as a junior and now
look at you, a fantastic team leader ready to step up to the project manager’s
position. You can do this job standing on your head and as for selling yourself,
well…”

Katie grinned at her friend’s confidence in her. Lisa
Harding worked in PR and everyone they knew reckoned she was the best at what
she did. Lack of confidence wasn’t even on Lisa’s radar and if anyone knew how
to pitch themselves it was her. Katie wished her luck with the new guy and then
listened to another round of instructions: shoulders back, smile on your face,
and knock ‘
em
dead.