Wedding Night
Page 61
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Oh God. Those knickers are by Aubade. They cost forty pounds. And they match the bra I’m wearing. I can’t bear for them to disappear into the bin.
“Actually …” I peer at the knickers as though suddenly noticing something about them. “On second thought … perhaps they are mine.” I scoop them up as nonchalantly as I can and examine a small rosebud. “Ah yes.” I stuff them in my pocket, avoiding the lounge manager’s steely gaze. “Thank you so much for your help. Keep up the good work. Lovely lounge.”
“May we compliment you on the buffet,” adds Ben. He holds out an arm and escorts me away before I can explode. I don’t know if I want to laugh or scream. How did that happen? How the fuck did they know?
“We were silent,” I mutter to Ben as we walk. “We were totally silent.”
“I bet it was the old man,” he mutters back. “He must have shopped us. He guessed what we were doing.”
“Bastard.”
I slump into one of the plushy chairs and look around disconsolately. Why don’t they provide facilities for sex, anyway? Why is it all about surfing the Net and eating grapes?
“Let’s have some champagne,” says Ben, and squeezes my shoulder. “Never mind. Bring on tonight.”
“Bring on tonight,” I agree fervently.
I check my watch again. Five hours, thirty minutes to go until we can put up that DO NOT DISTURB sign. I’ll be counting down every millisecond. As Ben heads to the bar, I pull out my phone and text Fliss.
We were found out. Someone shopped us. Bastards.
There’s quite a long pause—then her reply arrives.
Poor you! Safe flight. Xxx
9
FLISS
Educational. It’s an educational trip. Yes.
I haven’t asked permission. I haven’t given warning. I haven’t sat in the headmistress’s study and been lectured. I feel that in this instance the element of surprise is crucial.
“Mrs. Phipps?” Mrs. Hocking puts her head round the door of the classroom. “You wanted to see me?”
“Ah, hello.” I smile as confidently as I can. “Yes. Just a small matter. I’m going to have to take Noah out of school for a few days. To a Greek island. It will be very educational.”
“Ah.” She frowns off-puttingly. “I’m afraid you’ll have to ask permission from the headmistress—”
“I understand.” I nod. “Unfortunately, I don’t have time to ask the headmistress, as I understand she’s away today.”
“Really? When were you planning to go?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Mrs. Hocking looks aghast. “But we only started term two days ago!”
“Ah yes.” I act surprised, as though this hadn’t occurred to me. “Well, I’m afraid it’s an emergency.”
“What sort of emergency?”
A honeymoon-connected, sex-related emergency. You know the kind.
“A … family crisis,” I improvise. “But, as I say, it’ll be a very educational trip. Incredibly educational.” I spread my arms, as though to indicate just how educational this trip will be. “Highly, highly educational.”
“Hmm.” Mrs. Hocking clearly doesn’t want to give way. “Is this the fourth time Noah’s been taken out of school this year?”
“Is it?” I act dumb. “I’m not sure.”
“I know things have been”—she clears her throat—“difficult for you. What with your job and … everything.”
“Yes.”
We’re both staring at the ceiling, as though to expunge the memory of that time Daniel had just brought in his new set of big-gun lawyers and I burst into tears at pickup time and practically sobbed on her shoulder.
“Well.” She sighs. “Very well. I’ll tell the head.”
“Thank you,” I say humbly.
“Noah’s having his extra lesson at the moment, but if you come in, I’ll give you his bag.”
I follow her into the empty classroom, which smells of wood and paint and Play-Doh. The assistant teacher, Ellen, is tidying away some plastic counters and she beams up at me. Ellen has a high-salaried husband in banking and is a great fan of five-star hotels. She reads the magazine every month and is always questioning me about the latest spa treatments and whether Dubai is over.
“Mrs. Phipps is taking Noah on an educational trip to a Greek island,” says Mrs. Hocking, in deadpan tones that clearly mean, This irresponsible parent is going on a drugs-and-booze mini-break and is dragging her poor son along to get high on the fumes; what can I do?
“Actually …” I peer at the knickers as though suddenly noticing something about them. “On second thought … perhaps they are mine.” I scoop them up as nonchalantly as I can and examine a small rosebud. “Ah yes.” I stuff them in my pocket, avoiding the lounge manager’s steely gaze. “Thank you so much for your help. Keep up the good work. Lovely lounge.”
“May we compliment you on the buffet,” adds Ben. He holds out an arm and escorts me away before I can explode. I don’t know if I want to laugh or scream. How did that happen? How the fuck did they know?
“We were silent,” I mutter to Ben as we walk. “We were totally silent.”
“I bet it was the old man,” he mutters back. “He must have shopped us. He guessed what we were doing.”
“Bastard.”
I slump into one of the plushy chairs and look around disconsolately. Why don’t they provide facilities for sex, anyway? Why is it all about surfing the Net and eating grapes?
“Let’s have some champagne,” says Ben, and squeezes my shoulder. “Never mind. Bring on tonight.”
“Bring on tonight,” I agree fervently.
I check my watch again. Five hours, thirty minutes to go until we can put up that DO NOT DISTURB sign. I’ll be counting down every millisecond. As Ben heads to the bar, I pull out my phone and text Fliss.
We were found out. Someone shopped us. Bastards.
There’s quite a long pause—then her reply arrives.
Poor you! Safe flight. Xxx
9
FLISS
Educational. It’s an educational trip. Yes.
I haven’t asked permission. I haven’t given warning. I haven’t sat in the headmistress’s study and been lectured. I feel that in this instance the element of surprise is crucial.
“Mrs. Phipps?” Mrs. Hocking puts her head round the door of the classroom. “You wanted to see me?”
“Ah, hello.” I smile as confidently as I can. “Yes. Just a small matter. I’m going to have to take Noah out of school for a few days. To a Greek island. It will be very educational.”
“Ah.” She frowns off-puttingly. “I’m afraid you’ll have to ask permission from the headmistress—”
“I understand.” I nod. “Unfortunately, I don’t have time to ask the headmistress, as I understand she’s away today.”
“Really? When were you planning to go?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Mrs. Hocking looks aghast. “But we only started term two days ago!”
“Ah yes.” I act surprised, as though this hadn’t occurred to me. “Well, I’m afraid it’s an emergency.”
“What sort of emergency?”
A honeymoon-connected, sex-related emergency. You know the kind.
“A … family crisis,” I improvise. “But, as I say, it’ll be a very educational trip. Incredibly educational.” I spread my arms, as though to indicate just how educational this trip will be. “Highly, highly educational.”
“Hmm.” Mrs. Hocking clearly doesn’t want to give way. “Is this the fourth time Noah’s been taken out of school this year?”
“Is it?” I act dumb. “I’m not sure.”
“I know things have been”—she clears her throat—“difficult for you. What with your job and … everything.”
“Yes.”
We’re both staring at the ceiling, as though to expunge the memory of that time Daniel had just brought in his new set of big-gun lawyers and I burst into tears at pickup time and practically sobbed on her shoulder.
“Well.” She sighs. “Very well. I’ll tell the head.”
“Thank you,” I say humbly.
“Noah’s having his extra lesson at the moment, but if you come in, I’ll give you his bag.”
I follow her into the empty classroom, which smells of wood and paint and Play-Doh. The assistant teacher, Ellen, is tidying away some plastic counters and she beams up at me. Ellen has a high-salaried husband in banking and is a great fan of five-star hotels. She reads the magazine every month and is always questioning me about the latest spa treatments and whether Dubai is over.
“Mrs. Phipps is taking Noah on an educational trip to a Greek island,” says Mrs. Hocking, in deadpan tones that clearly mean, This irresponsible parent is going on a drugs-and-booze mini-break and is dragging her poor son along to get high on the fumes; what can I do?
