I catch sight of myself in the mirror. I’m surprised to see my stomach is concave and my hips look sharp. I’ve definitely lost weight over the last couple of weeks. I used to have a sparkle in my eye but now, they are dull and hollow-looking. My thoughts fly briefly to Dan and how he’s never so much as sent a text after that awful day. Neither has Pippa and we were such great friends. Not one word from either of them. My reflection stares back at me, I look gaunt and not so pretty, dead behind the eyes. Bitterness is ageing, I don’t care what anyone says.
I’ll quickly freshen up and then confront her over dinner. We can talk through what exactly happened at work like two civilised adults. The emails. The promotion. The shock redundancies. And Dan. But when I step out of the shower a few moments later, I hear voices and music.
I throw on my mother’s elaborately-coloured silk kimono which is hanging on the back of the bathroom door, to go investigate.
I nearly die when I walk in the kitchen and see Senor Handsome Bugger from the airport sitting opposite my sister, eatingmychicken and drinking a glass ofmywine. They are laughing their heads off. They both turn to me smiling.
‘Oh, hi Nelly-Belly. This is…’ but as my sister introduces him, I blank them both, swerve round to retrieve my keys from the plantpot, head out of the door and slam it loudly behind me.
I can barely drive, I’m so fuming. She hasn’t been in the country for more than five bloody minutes and already she’s got a bloody date. And the cock-faced fucker looks like some sort of super model. She’s ruined the big confrontation I’d built myself up to, and now I have to go to sleep starving hungry, dressed in a peacock blue and burnt orange kimono.
Within minutes, I’ve reached my office, unscrewed the bottle top on the emergency wine and felt the cool liquid sliding down my throat. It’s like watering a shrivelled-up plant just before it dies and watching it spring back to life. Like those speeded up scenes from nature programmes on the Serengeti or wherever, when the mudflats get a single drop of rain and suddenly burst into lush green meadows with gazelles leaping about while hippos roll in the water. That’s how my taste buds feel. Within minutes, the wine bottle is empty and I’m fast asleep on the good sofa.
I wake up the next day in my office, crumpled and drained but ready for a sturdy day of ignoring my sister and of course, a day of helping people withrealproblems. I am NOT going to have a meltdown today. I need to rise above it. I’m going to have to race home and change so that I can transform from this hideous, wine-soaked husk in a brightly-coloured silk kimono, into a professional-looking life coach who cares.
Deep breaths.
Deep breaths.
I have some of Nidi’s regular clients today and I am determined to take them a step further towards their goals even if it is the only session they do with me. I will explain that there has been a computer mix up and if they complain afterwards, I won’t charge for their session.
A momentary flashback of Oliver looking lustfully at my lips pings into my mind accompanied by a flurry of butterflies. And yes, he might have been a little heavy handed with the home truths, but he is perfectly tall, with dark mysterious eyes, unruly dark hair and a sort of commanding presence that adds a sexiness to him. Even if he was sent by the ICF to spy on me.
Snap out of it.
As I haul myself up from the sofa, my phone is ringing. Without thinking, I answer it before I’ve even checked the caller ID. My determined mood immediately evaporating as I see who it is.
‘How are you and Ava getting along?’ my mother asks, blunt as ever.
‘Fine, Mother,’ I say, cramming some mints into my mouth to relieve the dryness.
‘Well, that’s not quite how your sister put it this morning when I spoke to her. She’s says you didn’t come home last night and over fifty of her followers were all worried sick about her being worried sick. Now listen to me,’ she says all direct and cold-hearted. ‘She is your SISTER.’
‘Mother. That is hardly breaking news,’ I reply petulantly. Honestly, she brings out the worst in me.
‘Don’t be childish,’ she warns. ‘You must forgive your sister and move on. Simple as that.’
I am gobsmacked.
‘So, you are admitting that it was all her fault?’ I ask incredulously.
‘She knows what she did was wrong, but she was in a very difficult position,’ my mother continues.See? Always on her side.‘You must give her a chance to explain herself. It’s not as straight forward as you think.’
‘Oh, I think itisstraight forward Mother,’ I say, my mood plummeting rather rapidly. ‘She ruined my life, and you took her side. You ALL stabbed me in the back!’
I hear my mother take in a sharp breath. ‘Oh, baby girl,’ she says quietly. ‘Is that what you really think?’
She sounds upset now. A lump is forming in my throat, but I refuse to answer. I’m not being manipulated by this woman again.
‘You wereillmy darling. That job was squeezing the life out of you. We could all see it.’
I immediately stiffen. The familiar heavy feeling of anxiety descending fast.How dare she!
‘Mother, I have to go,’ I say, slamming down the phone. Trust her to ruin my morning. A quick look at the time tells me it’s too late to go back to the villa to change. I thump around the office getting ready for my first client.
I stop for a brief moment to sigh heavily, allowing a wave of apprehension to engulf me. It’s draining.
I’m still thrown, even as Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen arrives at the office. Exhausted, I find myself saying a pleasant good morning only to see her eyes balloon in surprise. She gingerly hands me the notes for my first client. She will be wondering why I am not yelling ‘NOTES! NOTES! GET ME THE NOTES!’ I simply have not got the energy for it today. As long as no one mentions The Coach Trip, which will definitely be a trigger, we should just about scrape through the day.
