Page 26

Chapter Twenty-five

Gemma

‘Now,’ I say, lowering my bags slightly, ‘I may have gone a little bit overboard.’

But one glance at Leon and Francesca tells me I am not the only one. We could feast for weeks on this! Talk about a top-notch airport picnic. Well done us!

The pair of them stand looking awkward as anything, several inches apart and each turned slightly away as though they dare not so much as accidentally bump elbows.

They can’t still be at odds with each other, can they?

I mean, she’s sort of doing Leon a massive favour by trying to take Marcus off Kayleigh; he should be kissing the ground she walks on.

‘Mademoiselle?’ says a voice to my right, and I turn to see one of the Ladurée staff hurrying out of the empty shop towards me.

He’s terribly chic and brilliantly French, dressed entirely in black with an adorable little bow tie, slicked-back white hair, and still wearing his apron. He holds out a large bag to me.

‘ Ah, magnifique, Charles ’ – I’m sure to pronounce it with the ‘sh’ sound like the French do – ‘ vous êtes mon sauveur! Une etoile! Je suis plein de gratitude. Merci, mille fois! ’

I shove one of my duty-free carriers of booze at Leon, who fumbles to take it while balancing his pizza boxes – and God, the smell of those pizzas? Also magnifique . My stomach growls, suddenly ravenous.

With my free hand, I take the Ladurée bag, and Charles and I air-kiss on each cheek. I tell him to have a nice weekend, and he wishes us all a safe flight.

When I turn back, the other two are staring at me.

Fran’s eyebrows are practically at her hairline, smiling even as there’s a ‘what the ever-loving fuck did I just witness’ look in her eyes. ‘A friend of yours?’

I lift the bag. ‘He is now.’

Honestly, sometimes people are just so helpful.

The queue at duty free was so bad I left my stuff tucked in the front seat of that ridiculous red ‘ ohlala ’ car on display because quite frankly, if my options were going to be to sit through the next several hours without booze or without macarons, I knew exactly where my priorities lay.

What, like I’m going to be in Paris and not have a Marie-Antoinette tea biscuit? Sacrilege. Let them eat macarons!

But I got chatting to the guy serving me in Ladurée and I asked about any end-of-day stock and if they could hold some for me if I gave him cash now, so I could go back and pay for my stuff in duty free, and … here we are. Besties with Charles in his bow tie and apron.

Which I explain to the others, shrugging because it was no big deal.

Fran, bless her heart, stares at me like I am the most magnifique creature she’s ever seen, and Leon just shakes his head, smiling, not in the least bit surprised I managed this.

I add, ‘Listen, Kayleigh didn’t wangle a ten-thirty ceremony when “ senora , it is not the done thing, we have a system” and get those last-minute alterations on the dress by sheer dumb luck.

I’m very good at making things happen. Just apparently not an earlier flight.

That is the one thing slightly beyond my abilities, it seems.’

‘Well,’ Fran says brightly, ‘at least there’s pizza.’

I grin at her. ‘Truly, a girl after my own heart. Now come on, you two, let’s set up camp and dig in!’

We end up finding a spot halfway down the long corridor towards the toilets.

It’s a wide space with bright lights, and there’s a glass-panelled wall that we can see the passport control stands through, and – weirdly enough – little office spaces.

Two people leave one, wearing full suits, and one has a little Greek flag pin on their lapel.

Leon’s eyes follow them curiously. ‘I can’t decide if I’d be offended or not, if I had to take business meetings next to the toilets.’

‘There’s probably some secret corridor to bypass the usual security with us peasants for foreign dignitaries,’ I say, only half joking.

We claim a corner space, tucked out of the noise of the concourse but still a good distance from the loos.

I throw my jacket down to sit on, and start upturning bags to see our spoils.

Leon, bless him, has even remembered to pick up a few empty cups from upstairs for us to use, and some disposable cutlery.

‘A star,’ I tell him. ‘Thank you!’

I separate everything into piles, squealing when I realise Fran’s got us basically an entire charcuterie board. A couple of ripped-open carrier bags serve as our makeshift picnic blanket, and with everything on display ready to eat, I break into the booze.

‘Um,’ Fran whispers, her eyes blown wide and darting around, ‘are you allowed to drink that here? I thought there were rules against it …’

‘None anybody told me about. Besides, wouldn’t they have sealed the bag up if they didn’t want me to drink?

And it’s not like it’s illegal to drink in an airport; I think they just stop you flying if you’re so sloshed you can hardly stand,’ I add, when she worries her lower lip between her teeth, starting to look supremely uncomfortable.

‘We’ve literally got seven hours and sixteen minutes until our flight leaves. That’s ages to sober up.’

She looks unconvinced, but when I throw some Malibu and Coke into a cup and offer it out, she’s quick enough to gulp it down.

I laugh. Poor Fran, she really is in a way.

‘Talk about a hot mess,’ I joke. ‘Right, Leon?’

He flushes a bit, uncomfortable, and I add that to my growing tally of ‘Leon being weird around Francesca’.

I’ve yet to determine if he’d rather be far, far away from her because she’s a homewrecker setting out to steal his sister’s man or if the ‘hot’ part of my comment hit a little too close to home for him.

Or, the most likely: Leon is a dork who keeps to himself and isn’t good around new people, much less women. He’s been single for ages , and never has had much luck on the dating scene.

‘What’re you drinking?’ I ask him, to spare his awkwardness, and showcase my little bar. ‘We’ve also got some Smirnoff, a bit of Johnnie Walker, some of whatever this is …’ I squint at the label. ‘Blackcurrant and apple gin. And then the limoncello. But that’s more of a dessert drink, really.’

‘So much for only spending fifty euros apiece.’ He rolls his eyes, but points at the gin. I pour him a double measure (triple, maybe? Who’s counting?) and hand over the cup. He dilutes it with some Sprite.

‘They’re only little bottles,’ I say. Some of them are, anyway. Well, the gin is, and the limoncello’s not huge . Whatever we don’t drink, I’ll throw in a bag to take to the wedding, add them to the tab behind the bar.

That’s what I’m telling myself, anyway. And not that I’ll keep them all to myself and be delightfully buzzed and therefore numb to all of Kayleigh’s emotional vampire-ness through the weekend, whether the wedding goes ahead or not.

I pour myself some vodka, and only water it down a little with the Coke.

Leon notices, because he raises an eyebrow at me.

‘What? I’ve earned this. It’s been a long day.’

Fran gives a sympathetic hum, and Leon tilts his head to concede the point, but for me, this has been way more than just the upheaval of a delayed flight and the turmoil of Fran wanting to break up the wedding and Leon and his family hating the groom.

Sure, they’ve had a rough day too, but they don’t know the half of it.

It’s not a patch on the bullshit I’ve been dealing with.

So it all comes spilling out. I tear open a packet of crackers and some brie, shovelling olives into my mouth as I talk, telling them everything. How’s that for a rough day? I want to bite.

I’m doing it to one-up them, obviously, to make myself feel better. Like I’d do with Kayleigh, or Joss and Andi and Laura. You think you’ve got it bad? Just wait, just see.

Except it feels like they’re actually actively listening, not just waiting their turn so they can say, Yeah, that sucks, but I … And it doesn’t feel so much like a competition. It’s more like … like I’m getting something off my chest, trying to ease the burden a bit by sharing it.

How novel.

Is this how other people feel when they talk to their friends? That must be nice.

I tell them about how our team were overworked and our direct manager stretched too thin so we constantly had to redo work and re-prioritise, and things fell through the cracks until they became urgent and we’d have to break our necks to get them done in time.

So I’d looked into the budgets, crafted a role that would be an intermediary step – manage our team, but feed into our boss, and we’d ultimately be more productive and efficient at our jobs and even able to take on more, because there wouldn’t be this huge gap in communication.

I tell them how tricky that was to present – impossible to get time with the right people who could sign it off, a fine line to walk between shaming our current manager for being shit at her job and showing support for how hard she was working.

And I showed them all the ways I was perfect for that role.

But of course, it was Kayleigh who ingratiated herself with our manager, Kayleigh who went out of her way to ‘be seen’, even if it meant shirking work she knew the rest of us – me, always me – would pick up because it needed to be done.

It was Kayleigh who went behind my back to interview for the role when they hadn’t even advertised it, Kayleigh who made it sound like I was overworked and struggling and couldn’t handle the pressure of a promotion.

It was Kayleigh who got the fucking job.

Just like she gets everything else.

By the time I’m done, I’m breathing hard and I’ve demolished most of the olives. Whoops.

I down my drink, and pour myself another.

Fran reaches over to squeeze my knee. ‘That’s horrible . Oh, Gemma, I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine doing all that work, just to have it thrown back in your face like that.’

And Leon says, ‘Are you going to quit?’

I choke on my vodka-Coke, which is once again more vodka than it is Coke. I can’t tell if it’s already hitting me and that’s why my head feels so fuzzy, or if that’s down to this blinding, all-consuming anger that’s hit me once again.

‘ Quit? ’ I echo. ‘Are you kidding me? What, and walk away, just let her win ? After everything I’ve done there, all the grafting, the overtime … Just throw it all away and quit? ’

He looks at me steadily, with a quietness and calmness that Kayleigh has never possessed. If Kayleigh is a raging waterfall with a bubbling spring at the bottom, her brother is a vast, deep lake that you could throw a stone into and it would hardly cause a ripple.

I wish I’d been his friend instead .

The thought flits away as quickly as it arrived, but something leaden settles in my stomach.

‘I didn’t realise it was a competition,’ he says. ‘Talking about letting Kay “win” like that. Isn’t it just a job?’

‘Well, sure, but …’

But I’ve put blood, sweat and tears into that job.

I actually like what I do. I like the fast pace and the high intensity, even if having to redo work or down tools to focus on something else that we could’ve had sorted weeks ago had been pissing me off.

And if I leave – if Kayleigh gets that promotion, and I leave, it’s …

‘It’ll be like throwing all my toys out of the pram, just because someone said I wasn’t good enough. And—’ I snort. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time I’d heard that. I’m not the one who walks away.’

Wow.

I guess the booze is getting to me after all.

Fran’s hand is still on my knee, and she gives it another squeeze as she says, ‘Is this about your ex?’

And at the same time, Leon reaches to top his drink up with some more Sprite and says, ‘Is this about your dad?’

And I burst into tears.