Chapter 7
"The slipper manoeuvre: the point where I actually identified Otto's slippers then bent down and offered them to him as if he were royalty. How woeful can I get?"
"It couldn't have been that bad!" Sophie Smart chuckles. Sophie flicks a strand of hair. As usual, Sophie looks expensive. Her short bob of now blonde hair gleams. Every strand sits in place and wouldn't dare to kink or dare frizz. "You did say that he actually left and went to see his mother off. So he listened to you and he's not evil incarnate just yet."
"After our introduction he must believe I'm bonkers. When he went to his Mum's he wouldn't allow me to drive him and decided to catch a taxi."
"Have you seen yourself drive? I'd think about catching a cab too...." Carol Cartwright calls from the kitchen.
"When he returned to the mansion it was if I didn't exist and had become invisible. He evaded me completely. The whole day was absolutely ghastly. Absolutely ghastly."
Much to Mickey's horror I invited both Sophie and Carol over to her pad. Our group consists of four ladies. We're tight knit and we often take it in turns to have dinner at someone's place. Knowing that Mickey has adamantly refused to leave her flat, we're all congregated in Mickey's room. The girls are on the same page as me when it comes to my sister, we're ignoring her wishes to mope at home. She needs support.
I love and trust these girls and don't know what I'd do without them. A typical night with the girls has us discussing everything. No topic is off limits except for tonight when we've danced around Mickey's shop and the issues going on with her boyfriend Artie. Mickey's mouth has been completely zippered shut and she's given me the stink eye about ten times tonight.
Already we've heard tales from Sophie and the tribulations of her moving in with her boyfriend, the delectable Matthew. We've dissected Carol's ex-boyfriend Josh who has moved to Australia and kind of dropped out of contact. In between all this we've managed to compare notes on more intimate things like cellulite, crows feet and sex.
Sophie's started delving into my Plan A, working for Otto Arnold. I've been trying to explain how the job might possibly turn into a diabolical situation.
The three of us, Sophie, Mickey and I, are jammed together on the bed while Carol is ransacking our kitchen for booze. Carol's good like that. She keeps a party going. I'm against the window; the duvet is pulled up to my chin because a bitter breeze circulates the room. For all parties concerned, this is much better than being subjected to the cheesy smell.
"So what are you going to do about the feng shui bit?" Sophie asks.
"I have no idea." I shake my head. "I'd better become some sort of expert though in case he asks. I researched feng shui when he left for his Mum's."
"It's a Chinese philosophy, isn't it?" Everything about Sophie is perfect, even her answer is right on the money. I suppose it should be because Sophie is an advertising expert and has a way with crafting the right words.
"My research says feng shui is an ideology to improve life, create harmony and entice good luck into life."
"Please explain how the hell offering slippers would be a part of feng shui?" Carol appears with a bottle of white wine. Sophie raises her glass and Carol pours. Mickey shakes her head, silently protesting every part of this party on the bed.
"Come on darling. A tipple won't hurt you." Carol sloshes wine into Mickey's glass despite my sister's protests. "I can't have you fading away into a shadow like me."
Carol's almost skeletal because of her profession as a ballet dancer. She also dabbles in modelling and television. Usually the three of us will be subjected to some sort of lecture on how calorific wine is in comparison to straight vodka. I'd swear Carol has Russian blood coursing through her veins. Extending my glass, Carol tops me up before slumping into a position on the bed next to me.
"Simplistically feng shui involves decluttering. People are known to move furniture and buy pets to encourage feng shui into their homes. Maybe, what I said simply referred to decluttering his room?"
"I've got it. Hear me out." Sophie claps her hands together. "Surely the philosophy isn't just about decluttering but it's also about putting things back in their place?"
"I guess so – I'd have to research it a bit more."
"The right home for slippers isn't on the floor, is it?" Sophie rubs her palms with glee. Her eyes shine and this is how she must behave when she's hit gold on a marketing project. "The correct home for slippers is either packed away in the cupboard or on someone's feet. Am I right or am I right?"
"Or in a shoe rack?"
Sophie waves the comment about the shoe rack away. "So...Phoebe entered Otto Arnold's room which was dark. She felt bad karma shooting her direction from a scowling Otto Arnold...."
"Go on," says Carol, slightly amused at Sophie's re-enactment of the situation.
"Discarded on the ground she saw a pair of slippers which is completely against encouraging positive energy and positive feng shui. So she did did the only thing to create positive energy."
"The slipper manoeuvre," I suggest.
"Yes, the slipper manoeuvre where she scooped the shoes off the floor, offered them to him so he could put them on the correct place. That is on his feet. Voila. Done."
Carol bursts out laughing, as do I. Mickey harrumphs and bites down on her lip. "He probably won't ask anyway," Mickey says.
I hold my breath for a second and silence embodies the room because this is the first comment my sister has made tonight. I hear Carol sipping greedily from her glass and I follow suit. Has the alcohol shifted my sister's cranky demeanour?
Mickey's green eyes settle on me. "If this opportunity with Otto doesn't work out what are you going to do?"
"It has to work." I smile brightly. One thing I learnt from the accident is that anything can happen if you put your mind to it.
"You were working on a Plan B though? With Ben? What happened?"
"Yes, that went rather well." My voice remains upbeat as I chat. "I spoke to Classical Ache and Ben at the rehearsal rooms and asked them to help me find a job."
"And?" Mickey's tone is sharp.
"Oh...well they're going to ask around for me. Ben and I were supposed to discuss a Plan B tonight at the flat, but I guess he got caught up." I'm rambling, trying desperately to make light of the situation.
"Oh Darling, did you ditch him for us?" Carol winks. "I know your relationship has been a mess over the last little while. Hopefully you're sorting it out."
Her remark stings. "I wouldn't say that we're a mess."
"Why didn't you catch up tonight then?" Mickey probes.
"We just couldn't sort out a time and I love hanging with the ladies and I'd never ditch this catch up..."
Even though I'm sitting by the window the room feels hot. The three girls are each looking at me, waiting for me to further explain. I twist my hands together. My palms are now sweaty. "It's no big deal really. Ben and I agreed I was supposed to go over there."
"You've still got a key, don't you?" Carol cocks her head to the side, her eyebrows knit together.
"Yeah, but he didn't call me back or text and I couldn't push it, you know?" A flush runs up the back of my neck. I have no idea why I'm heating up. "Radio silence."
"I love Ben, don't get me wrong," Mickey interjects. "He's easy on the eye, he's been hanging round for almost a decade so I'm super comfortable with him. Jack and I would have sworn the two of you would have gotten married. One of the perks with you dating a musician is that he always is in the know with what is hot and seems to get us into the hottest venues for free. But I've said it once and I'll say it again, this 'break' is a 'break-up'."
My hands come to my chest and I involuntarily gasp, pushing myself off the bed. "No." I shake my head vehemently. "More wine, anyone?"
"Have you spoken about it?" Sophie's voice is careful, very careful.
I gulp down the rest of my wine. I choke slightly because I've inhaled the glass like I'm some sort of vacuum and the taste is acidic. My face feels tight as I dart a glance at the girls, their expressions cause uneasiness in my guts. My stomach twists and I snatch the bottle from Carol and pour myself another glass, the size of a beaker. I sip. I try and rationalise the thoughts that speed through my head. "There's no need to be worried. I'd know if Ben and I had broken up." My sister's words repeat and revolve. She can't be right about this. She's not the one in the relationship – I am. "Ben and I have been together since we were seventeen. He's my rock, he said so yesterday. He wouldn't string me along. Ben's not like that. We'd be clear with each other if there was a true split."
"Oh darling, sit back down here," Carol whispers and the tenderness in her voice causes a slight ripple of panic. I blink a few times, urging myself to stay strong because nothing is wrong with Ben and me. It can't be. "We've got your back, we promise."
I realise I'm pacing the room and I'm chewing on my bottom lip.
"Yeah, come back and sit down." Sophie gestures to the spot in front of Mickey. "Have more wine."
I flop onto the bed in front of the gaze of my sister. "We're totally fine." I shrug with nonchalance. "I wish I could somehow convince you of it."
"The thing is that over the six months we've heard a lot about Ben, whom all of us totally love." Sophie grabs my hand and squeezes. "But maybe, just maybe, there's been a communication breakdown somewhere along the line and somehow you've misunderstood?"
I flush. The girls have obviously talked about my relationship with Ben.
"Actions speak louder than words and if he's not answering your calls or texts...." Sophie stops speaking and glances at Carol. "Then maybe...."
"Then maybe...." Carol continues and glances at Mickey. "Maybe Mickey's right?"
"We're going through a pretty major crisis at the moment and where's Ben? Why hasn't he bothered to be in contact? I don't think we need flowers or phone calls but a bit of moral support wouldn't go astray, don't you think?" Mickey says flatly.
"He's got something huge on at the moment, the potential to really make it. I couldn't, I wouldn't ask him to jeopardise his rehearsals just to help me. He's helped me enough in the past after the accident. Remember? Remember?"
"Oh yes, Ben was a saint," Carol coos.
"He really was a saint wasn't he?" I'm speaking frantically, determined to make them see that they're wrong about Ben and me. "He drove me to the hospital each day because I was in a wheel chair and couldn't walk. Do you remember that?"
"Yes," the three girls say in unison.
I notice a look of acknowledgement in Sophie's expression so I continue. "He supported me through all those appointments. I had to relearn how to walk. Remember I couldn't even make it 200 meters to the toilet. Maestro bought me the walking cane. But I got there."
"Course you did," Mickey agrees. "You had this resolve not to let the accident get the better of you."
"But it was about Ben too. Ben was there for me. He put his whole life on hold for me because he drove me everywhere. I'm a strong and independent woman so maybe I should be supporting him and his band at the moment because he needs me."
Mickey rolls her eyes and groans. "But you always support him and his band. He said he'd help you with a Plan B and he hasn't come through, has he?" She shakes her head.
"He would if I saw him...."
"We're not trying to hurt you," Sophie says. "Just talk to him, and I mean, really talk to him."
"I'm not delusional."
But as they shake their heads I realise they believe I'm deceiving myself. Can that be possible?
"I've been trying to talk to him." I pant and run a hand through my hair. "I still haven't told you about the fifty thousand pound cheque that Otto Arnold offered me."
The room erupts into cries and exclamations from each of the girls. We don't discuss Ben but they pump me for details on Otto. Except Mickey, her thunderous expression has been replaced by a pitiful look whenever she glances in my direction. But I ignore the rising rejection that's growing inside me. I try to forget that my best friends, who are usually right about everything, just gave me an intervention about Ben. They've got to be wrong this time – don't they?
Think about Otto. I've got to think about the future. Plan A has to work.