Crazy Over You Page 13

  Chapter 21

  Gennaro’s Italian restaurant was bustling with the lunchtime crowd. Abby felt a pang of envy as she took in the scene. She generally spent her forty-five minute lunch break in the staffroom eating a sandwich while marking or photocopying; these people were lunching in style. Rachel had found them a table near the large open-fronted windows, which meant they could benefit from the warmth of the midday sun without sitting directly in it. She looked relaxed as she put down her large glass of wine and stood to give each of them a kiss.

  “So how was your probing morning?” she queried.

  Both Abby and Simon groaned at the inappropriate joke and decided not to answer. Instead Simon pulled a chair out for Abby and waited for her to sit before taking a seat himself. Almost immediately a waiter joined them, deftly handing out menus while reciting an enticing list of specials. It all sounded delicious, and was made even more tempting by the deep rhythm of his rich Italian accent. They gave their drinks order – a slightly rebellious skinny latte for Abby (Ha – look at me drinking coffee!) and water for Simon – before pondering what to eat. Abby looked at the healthier options but eventually decided on a chicken and mushroom risotto; she had reminded Melissa about exercising and that had to count for something after all! Simon ordered the lobster and crab tortellini and Rachel, ever mindful of her figure, ordered a baked mushroom starter as her main. Oh great! Abby rolled her eyes.

  Rachel hardly ate and seemed to thrive on work, a weakness for wine and the occasional cigarette – a habit she actually indulged in more than she liked to admit. It was a well-established routine that she insisted worked for her and nobody could deny that she generally looked great. In the years since leaving university it was as if their roles had reversed. In those days it had been Abby who seemed the most driven and took the most care over her appearance. Now it was Rachel. Over the years Rachel had perfected the distinct look of a person who woke each day with the single consideration of getting herself out of bed and dressed to impress; a fact Abby liked to joke about and compare to the mummy-on-the-run look she seemed to achieve on a daily basis. With her self-esteem already at a low ebb she wished she had dressed up a little more in preparation for lunch. She knew that she ought to actually start wearing the clothes she had bought with Melissa.

  In contrast to Abby’s safe option of trusty trainers, jeans and t-shirt, Rachel wore a pair of black patent Jimmy Choo pumps, fitted three-quarter length cotton trousers and a pink camisole with high neck and keyhole back. The material hugged her petite figure in all the right places and revealed a toned body with firm breasts that saluted the fact she’d never had children. Her sandy blonde hair was loose, the subtle layers making it fall around her face in a tousled, slightly sultry manner. Despite the heat she wore what Abby considered to be a lot of makeup, but her routine of exfoliating, moisturising and priming, before layering colours and contouring to achieve maximum definition, ensured a result that to those unaware of her daily routine oxymoronically looked thoroughly natural.

  With the drinks delivered they began to chat about Jessica and Grace. As it had been a while since Rachel had seen her goddaughters she mentioned repeatedly how much they’d grown and how they reminded her of Simon when he was little. As the conversation turned to work and Rachel’s recent travels, Abby couldn’t help but notice Simon’s posture stiffen in his seat. Instead of joining in he frequently looked out to the street, attempting to draw the conversation to things he’d spotted. Rachel seemed oblivious and continued with her tales of overexcited Americans accosting Rebecca Giles and getting her to sign blindfolds and to pose with them in handcuffs. Abby thought it was silly. It wasn’t like she was never going to hear of anyone travelling again; even with her anti-America and all things American stance she knew she would have to learn to cope with that. Abby watched as Simon pushed his hand through his hair. Perhaps it was his over-protective streak, not wanting her to get upset, or the talk of kinky sex aids – though Abby didn’t want to think why that might make him feel awkward; either way he looked uncomfortable and obviously decided he’d had enough as he excused himself to the bar, seemingly fancying something stronger than water after all.

  As Rachel spoke Abby realised she should turn her phone on. She was supposed to be at home doing her PPA, so she ought to at least be available should the school need to contact her. As her phone sprung into life three texts pinged into her inbox: Eleanor checking she would be taking the girls round for tea, as she had promised, and two from Melissa:

  Brad says the teachers’ netball team could do with some new “talent” – ooer! I phoned the gym: induction for Wednesday at 5:30, unless you fancy pole fit; another suggestion from Brad xx

  Abby stared at her phone and scrolled to the next message.

  Not really but I couldn’t resist that, though I do hear it’s a great way to get in shape! xx ;-)

  Abby laughed out loud, stopping Rachel mid-sentence and causing her to look at her in surprise.

  “Something to share with the group?”

  “Not really, just my friend Melissa; we’re going to start the gym together.”

  Rachel almost choked on her wine. “You? Really?!”

  Incredulous that everybody seemed to have so little faith in her ability to take on a physical challenge, Abby went on the defensive. “Yes, it’s to continue the good work we started while we were away – you know, the abseiling and stuff. Melissa’s great like that.” She knew she was being childish and really didn’t need to play the ‘Melissa is obviously more supportive than you’ card, but she couldn’t resist. She was getting fed up with some people’s obviously limited expectations of her. Rachel continued to have a smirk on her face. Abby took a gulp of her latte, wishing she’d opted for a nice cup of tea, before continuing.

  “We were going to do pole fit but the class is busy, so the gym it is – you know, while we wait for a space.” What are you saying? Stop now, seriously; quit while you’re ahead!

  Rachel looked at Abby as if she were some new species. “Who are you and what have you done with Abigail Turner?” She laughed.

  “It’s the new me,” Abby affirmed. “Things have changed and I need to change too.” She sat back decisively, swigging down the last of her almost-cold coffee, trying desperately not to wince.

  “Good for you sweetie! Personally I loved the old you but if you want to change you go for it!”

  Abby felt a little guilty, and as much as she was grateful for the distraction of the food arriving she hoped desperately that as Simon returned to the table Rachel wouldn’t mention pole fit; she wasn’t sure she could keep up the pretence and be thoroughly convincing in front of him.

  Abby’s new homework from Mallory, as well as the challenge of attempting some small but positive steps, was to make a list of the ways Simon had made her happy. Much of what they had discussed so far had focused on how unhappy he had made her. This new stance was intended to help Abby focus on a more rounded picture of their relationship. As Abby tucked into her risotto, attempting to ignore Rachel picking at her mushroom, she started to wonder what she might write. Perhaps if she focused on how he used to be with Jessica when she was little and the nice things he had done recently she could write a bit. The freesias, the gemstone, the origami, it was all very thoughtful. Then again she didn’t want Mallory scrutinising her every word and telling her off again; she was learning that counsellors read as much into what you don’t mention as what you do! Maybe she should write more about the ways he used to make her happy, things he had done in the past, not things wrapped in apologies. Things before ‘it’, slutgate, happened. A few ideas popped into her mind but she found it hard to think about the past in a positive light when things that had happened since overshadowed it. It was frustrating.

  “Anyway, it seems the world loves a bit of BDSM wrapped in a gushy love story.”

  Abby’s mind flipped into the present as she caught up with the fact that Rachel was now referring to Rebecca Giles’ continuing b
ook tour and where she would be off to next.

  “Have you read it yet Abby?”

  Rachel’s attempt to draw Abby into the conversation caught her off guard. She went to take a drink and ponder her answer, but remembered her cup was empty. She didn’t want to seem a prude by saying she hadn’t read it, but she also didn’t want to reveal why she hadn’t; especially when it seemed most of the female population had.

  Abby decided on a noncommittal, “That would be telling.” She grinned, aware that she was probably fooling nobody but pleased not to have revealed that her only attempt at actually reading the book had ended abruptly when she realised it was set in the US and the lead characters referred to each other as ‘babe’, reminding her all too much of the I love and miss you, babe text.

  “Anyway, it’s Europe next and there’s even mention of Australia in the spring,” Rachel stated, thankfully saving Abby from further explanation.

  “That’s quite a tour!” Abby was pleased for Rachel. Despite all her protestations she knew she loved to travel and was lucky to have a job which allowed her to do exactly that, but she also felt a little saddened at the thought of losing her friend again so soon. She attempted a positive answer. “I always wanted to see more of Europe.”

  “Venice was amazing!” Simon looked surprised by his own words – he’d obviously said it on impulse and seemed unsure how Abby would react.

  Abby grinned back but didn’t speak; Venice had been amazing. Their trip, arranged by Simon as a birthday surprise, had resulted in one of the best holidays she’d ever had and the birth of Grace nine months later. Ironically it was the last time she could remember them sharing a really lovely time together; no outside stresses of work or children, just the two of them. Maybe she should write about that for Mallory.

  Unsure that Abby wanted to relive past events Simon continued quizzing Rachel about the book tour. While they spoke, the Italian food, the music, the waiter’s accent and the warm sunshine played with Abby’s senses, encouraging her to slip too easily into remembering the long weekend. For a moment she longed to be back there, in Venice, just the two of them. She remembered walking hand in hand through the labyrinth of alleyways shaded by tall buildings, their voices echoing up to the colourful strings of washing stretched between open-shuttered windows, and the contrast of stepping out of the shadows into bright sunshine as they traversed the countless footbridges. She had loved soaking it all in: the sights and sounds of everyday life were totally unique in a city with no roads. Of course they had done the gondola ride and the way-too-expensive bitter hot chocolate in St Mark’s Square, where Simon insisted on paying extra so the orchestra would play while they sat. But those moments alone, away from the crowds, exploring the hidden corners of the city were what she remembered most. That and the long, hot afternoons spent entwined together in cool sheets in their hotel room, the sound of the lapping canal drifting through the open window. How far away it all seemed now. Abby wondered if they would ever share a moment like that again.

  “You OK?”

  Simon’s hand on Abby’s arm made her jump. She realised tears were welling in her eyes.

  “Yes, sorry; just popping to the ladies’.” In a fluster she excused herself and left the table.

  In the washroom Abby splashed cool water on her face. The mirrored alcove around the sinks meant her reflection stared back at her to infinity as she looked up. Her fringe had grown and sat less heavily above her eyes, but her hair needed dyeing again. She had definitely lost weight and her face looked thinner. Cheekbones were actually reappearing after being hidden for too long; she sucked in her lips and made a fish face, imagining how they might look should she lose another half a stone. She turned her head and caught sight of her bottom. The harsh lighting was not terribly flattering and the fact she was still wearing her old clothes meant she hadn’t optimised on revealing her new slimmer self, she knew Gok Wan would not approve. Hmm, so things have changed and I need to change too, she thought.

  Abby took out her brush and fluffed up her hair. She didn’t own a makeup bag but she rummaged in her handbag and found some lip balm that she smeared on to give her lips a more luscious sheen. She took out her phone and text Melissa:

  And there I was all excited about pole fit! ;-) All good for Wednesday. I’ll meet you there; not so sure about the netball, at least the gym will be inside.

  She sent it, rather pleased with herself, and wondered what on earth she would wear to the gym. She looked at her tired trainers; they certainly didn’t look ready to be put through their paces. She would have to stop at the shop when she got the girls – You must be able to buy gym gear at Tesco!

  Opening the door from the ladies’ brought Abby out onto a mezzanine floor looking across the restaurant. She paused, feeling the childlike urge to wave from her new viewpoint, she attempted to catch Rachel’s eye. It was then she noticed that she and Simon seemed locked in some kind of heated debate. Abby stared, trying to fathom what they could be discussing; there was no way she could hear them over the general hubbub of noise but their body language definitely suggested some kind of altercation. Simon was leaning across the table; Rachel was holding her ground, sitting upright in her seat, her body rigid. Both had flushed cheeks. Rachel seemed to motion to Abby’s empty seat a few times which gave her the distinct impression they were talking about her. Simon shook his head; whatever it was Rachel was saying he was clearly disagreeing.

  Abby was intrigued. She couldn’t remember ever seeing them cross at each other; generally they sorted out their differences in a half-mocking, half-joking manner as if they had never moved on from being at school. But this seemed like something more. Abby cringed, hating the thought that she could be the cause of any bad feeling between them. She hoped she hadn’t revealed too much to Rachel; she didn’t want what was happening between her and Simon to affect their friendship. She hurried down the stairs, hoping to interject before things went too far.

  Walking towards them she couldn’t help but notice that her nearing presence caused them both to move back into their seats, swig at their drinks and look in opposite directions. “Everything OK?” she asked, cutting through the tension surrounding the table.

  “Yeah. All good… aren’t we Simon!” Rachel spoke with a tight smile.

  Simon nodded.

  Whatever it was that had upset them they clearly had no intention of continuing their argument in front of her.

  “Good,” Abby affirmed, unconvinced by their performance. “Who’s for dessert?” She knew the answer was probably just her, but she hoped the distraction might help.

  Chapter 22

  Abby pulled her slightly-too-shiny Lycra leggings out of her bottom and yanked down her too-baggy faded black t-shirt in an attempt to hide the floral motif embellished with the words fit as across her hip. She didn’t need her sarcastic mind interjecting with exactly what she was as fit as. She wondered whether to put her hair up but decided that keeping it down meant she could hide behind it. Her new trainers felt soft and springy. They were white and silver with pink flashes and probably more suited to a teenager than a grown woman, but she liked them. They undoubtedly looked like the keenest and most exercise-ready thing about her. Melissa in contrast looked like she had stepped off the glossy pages of a gym-wear catalogue, already the picture of fitness and hair scooped into a springy ponytail.

  They walked through the corridor of the leisure centre. Abby felt nerves creeping in as she had flashbacks of her own school PE lessons. In an attempt to stay calm she quashed an image of herself as a chubby child being forced to crawl through the gap under the balancing beam while imitating a snake in what her teacher called ‘musical movement’. It was a task the seven-year-old Abby had embarked upon with trepidation, bowing to the authority of her teacher but pretty sure she was never going to fit. Unfortunately, judging by the look of horror on Mrs Garner’s face this realisation didn’t occur to her until it was too late – right about the time Abby’s bottom got stuck in fact
! Much embarrassment ensued on both sides as Abby wriggled and Mrs Garner pulled in desperation to heave Abby out of the humiliating situation and herself out of having to call the fire brigade. Abby knew this was the reason why her own pupils saw her as a pushover when it came to PE; she never made them do anything they didn’t want to.

  Inside the gym Abby had expected dim, hopefully flattering lighting enabling her to hide and skulk in the shadows. What she discovered however was very different. The room was bright, not just ordinary sixty-watt bright but glaring, operating theatre bright. There was clearly nowhere to hide. To add to the intensity MTV blared out on four large televisions strategically placed so with the help of mirrors you could watch from any angle. Abby conceded that seeing Beyoncé Knowles shake her booty did seem to be having an inspiring effect on the sweat-ridden onlookers who pushed, pulled and pounded with an impressive verve on the range of machines sprawled before her. She swallowed hard and noticed goosebumps prickling at her skin. Rubbing at her chilly arms and about to put it down to nerves she realised she was standing under an air vent blasting cold air at her. So much for the gym being the warm indoors option!

  Looking round she was pleased to see that she actually didn’t look out of place. There was a range of people sporting an assortment of outfits from hardcore types wearing Lycra as if it were a second skin to those, like her, who had fashioned an outfit together aiming for optimum body coverage at minimum cost. She loved the fact there were middle-aged women, Heat magazine spread across the output display on their exercise bikes, juxtaposed with fit young people in their twenties powering through the burn. Do people still say that?

  She was also pleased that she wasn’t the biggest person in the room. She knew it was a shallow way to make herself feel better but sadly it worked as a morale boost. Besides, she blamed Kennedy for the thought. The game was her invention when they were in their teens. Basically, as you entered a room the idea was to mentally calculate where you would come if you lined everybody up from skinniest to chubbiest. For Kennedy, who was eternally skinny, it was a bit of fun. For Abby, who didn’t share the same naturally skinny genes (or jeans), it generally wasn’t. Lately, however, she had allowed the realisation that she was no longer pushing depressingly towards the top end of the scale in most of the rooms she entered to boost her deflated self-esteem. She knew she should know better – judging others by size alone was cruel, even if the results did inflate her ego more than it should!