The Other Woman(47)

‘Are we seeing Cliff Richard?’ piped up Mum.

‘No,’ I said. ‘He makes wine out there, doesn’t he?’

‘I can’t be drinking too much,’ said Tess, as we all started walking. ‘I’ve got a big presentation next week.’

We all groaned. ‘I see what you mean about her,’ Pippa said, laughing loudly as she slapped my back, her edges already blurred by alcohol.

‘What a surprise to see Charlotte,’ said Mum quietly, hanging back to catch me on my own. ‘Everything okay now?’

I smiled tightly.

‘I’m so pleased you sorted everything out. You should have told me.’

I didn’t know what to say. I was too dumbfounded to even begin to piece together what was going on here.

I managed to avoid Charlotte for the entire journey, side-stepping every time I sensed her sidling up to me. Pippa and Seb were my buffers, although the constant supply of in-flight drinks was doing nothing to help their judgement.

‘I promise I’ll be more reliable tomorrow,’ Seb slurred, as he gave up on the fight for my case as Charlotte eagerly made a grab for it on the conveyor belt.

I took it without saying a word. I couldn’t even look at her, because I knew that if I did, the vision of what she’d done would come back and hit me like a tonne of bricks.

I made sure I was the last one onto the minibus, so I didn’t run the risk of her sitting next to me. I couldn’t go on avoiding her like this for four days – this was supposed to be my happy time. Something had to give. I could almost hear myself laughing wryly at the thought of Pammie being my biggest problem this weekend.





22

I could see Charlotte’s reflection behind me, as we both looked out of the window into the dark, curious as to where we were going. I wondered if, like me, she remembered the last time we’d done a journey like this, as a pair of innocent eighteen-year-olds, about to enter the lion’s den of Ayia Napa. We’d cruelly laughed as our fellow holidaymakers had been dropped off at their hotels by the coach, each place looking less salubrious than the one before. ‘I’m glad we’re not staying there,’ she’d shrieked. ‘I’d never get in that pool.’

Our naivety wasn’t lost on the coach driver, who kept looking at us in his mirror, smiling and shaking his head. Clearly he knew something we didn’t, because when he dropped us off, in the middle of nowhere, he’d laughed at our confused faces.

‘No, this can’t be right,’ insisted Charlotte as we stepped off the coach and straight into squelching mud. ‘The brochure said it was in the heart of things.’

Our driver, who we now saw from his name badge was called Deniz, shook his head and smiled.

The harsh spotlight glaring above the porch guided us down the narrow path, sending geckos scurrying out of our way, as we forlornly dragged our cases.

‘Ciao,’ shouted Deniz cheerily, before pulling away, and all I wanted to do was run after him. Even with his twirled moustache and beady eyes, he seemed a safer option than the matronly-looking woman who was sitting behind the reception desk, sweating and swishing away flies with a swatter. It had taken three or four rakis to see the funny side of things, and I’m still not quite sure how many more before we passed out, waking up on a mouldy sunbed the next morning, with the heat of the Cypriot sun burning down on us.

We’d referred to it ever since – well, at least until we stopped talking – as our ‘coming of age’ journey: a mystical escapade of raki, riot and rampage. I smiled, despite myself.

Pippa’s excited voice invaded my thoughts, bringing me back to the present. ‘This looks like it,’ she said. ‘We’re here!’

The villa, with its peach-coloured walls gently illuminated by uplighters, was beautiful. But I wanted to be here with the people I loved, not a psychotic future mother-in-law and a woman who had slept with my last boyfriend.

‘Wow!’ cried everyone in unison.

‘Not too shabby, eh?’ said Pippa.

They excitedly crowded round the front door as she fumbled with the lock. I held back, desperately fighting the urge to get on the departing minibus, though to where, I didn’t know. I batted away stinging tears and then felt a hand in the small of my back.

‘You okay?’ Mum asked gently.

I managed a nod and swallowed down the lump in my throat. My mum was here. Everything would be okay.

Pippa had booked a table at BJ’s, a restaurant on the beach, for dinner. ‘Appropriate name,’ called out quiet Tess, as we navigated the steep steps from the dusty car park. ‘Going down!’

‘Bloody hell, how many has she had?’ Pippa laughed.

I felt a tug on my hand, pulling me back, and, on turning round, I realized it was Charlotte. ‘You haven’t said a word to me, not even hello,’ she said.

‘Not now,’ I replied. ‘I’m not in the mood.’

‘So why did you invite me, then?’

I stopped in my tracks and turned to face her.

‘Invite you? You think I invited you?’ She looked like she’d been slapped in the face.

‘Well, yes, that’s what Pammie said . . .’ she faltered. ‘Didn’t you?’

A heat rushed to my ears. Charlotte’s mouth was moving but her words became muffled. Pammie? I couldn’t even begin to comprehend how this could have happened. I searched for a connection, some way of putting them together. My brain whirred with images of Pammie, Adam, James, even Tom. They were all laughing, their features contorted like Spitting Image puppets, rocking back and forth. I felt like they were trampling me underfoot, but I couldn’t see who was pulling the strings.