The Age of Misadventure. Judy Leigh
reception area with the soft sofas, the gurgling pebble fountain and the stone Buddha. Finally, I’m in the basement, in Jade’s gym with music playing through speakers. Cobwebs have gathered in the corners and the main area smells of fetid sweat, testosterone and men’s underpants: a stench that I know hasn’t come from Jade. I resolve to spray some sweet pea room fragrance in the air later; although Jade’ll sniff it out when she’s back and tell me it’s highly inappropriate. Most of her one-to-one sessions are either undersized or ridiculously muscly middle-aged men.
I’m hoovering under the gym machinery and I notice a spider or two beneath the benches. They’ve expired and become crusty and dry, many legs in the air, so I bend down, nozzle arched, to commit them to dust. My back is flexible and it’s not hard to reach the corners. I view it as good exercise. My favourite band strikes up the opening chords on the music player. I lift the nozzle as a microphone, wiggle my backside and sing along, bawling at the top of my voice, ‘Walk this way.’
Suddenly I freeze. I don’t know why. Then I turn round and he’s standing there with his arms folded, smiling. Dark hair parted at the side, separated in two thick quiff-shaped tufts, navy jacket, roll-neck sweater, navy trousers. He’s pale, shaven so clean his face reminds me of a cricket ball. He’s staring at me. I jump and almost scream. I’m so glad I don’t.
‘How the hell did you get in?’
He smirks. ‘The front door was open.’
I glare at him. ‘Well? What can I do for you, Adie?’
He looks me up and down and his mouth is half-snarl, half-smile.
‘Bonnie sent me over.’
I can hardly imagine that. I lean against the hoover pipe, nozzle in the air, and stare at him like I’m Joan of Arc with my flexible lance.
‘Did she?’
He smirks. ‘She wants you to come over to lunch. I thought I’d come and pick you up.’ He surveys my headscarf, my bare feet, everything in between. ‘You look as if you need taking out of here to somewhere civilised. A light lunch, a chat, two sisters together.’
I wonder why she didn’t ring or text. Perhaps I missed it. I close my eyes and think for a moment.
‘I can take my own car.’
He shakes his head. ‘Bonnie insisted. Have a glass of wine with her. I’ll do the taxi-ing. Anyway, I’m here now.’ He frowns at the leggings. ‘You’ll need to get changed.’
I want to see Bonnie. I’ll put up with the bloodsucker husband from here to Frodsham. Half an hour’s drive.
I nod. ‘You can wait in the car, then. I’ll be five minutes.’
He sits down on one of the benches, adjusts the back flap of his jacket, makes himself comfortable.
‘I’ll be all right here.’ He sniffs the air around me. ‘Make it ten minutes, Georgie. Have a shower.’
Standing outside the oak front door, Bonnie looks pallid and slender in a filmy dress and heels; her hair is glossy, curled in soft ringlets. She smiles and puts her arms round my neck.
‘Thanks for coming, Georgie. Adie and I had such a great time at the spa. I was so looking forward to chatting to you about it.’
She glances over my shoulder – I can feel the tension in her arms. Adie’s behind us, having parked the car.
He smirks. ‘I have a meeting in my office, Bonnie. I don’t want to be disturbed. You girls have a nice lunch together. I ordered in the Chablis and the smoked salmon specially.’
He saunters away, snake hips, hooded eyes, leaving the pungent smell of expensive aftershave in the air.
Bonnie takes my hand. ‘Come on, Georgie.’
I whisper, ‘I thought you were dumping him?’
She shrugs. ‘I’m not strong like you. And he needs me. He said so.’
I sigh loudly and we walk into the dining room, with high glass windows, a magnificent carved wood table. The view outside is of a vast clipped lawn, birds swirling around a feeder: blue tits, robins. Huge poplar trees frame the windowpane, and the steady dark roof of the swimming pool and leisure centre. I frown at my plate, slivered salmon and rocket. Bonnie fills two crystal glasses with pale wine. We both poke at the fish with silver forks, two mirror images. I break the silence.
‘So, tell me about the spa hotel, Bon.’
‘It was lovely.’
‘What treatments did you get?’
She sighs. ‘A pedicure, a massage. A facial where they put little needles in the skin.’
I nod. ‘Abrasion therapy. I’ve seen the machines they use. I’d love one but they’re expensive.’
She shakes her head. ‘I felt like I’d hugged a hedgehog by the time the therapist had finished with me.’ She lifts her head. ‘Does my skin look better?’
‘Marvellous.’ I wonder if she should’ve had a tan. She’s pale as a gravestone. I gulp some wine and ask the question. ‘So, did Adie behave himself?’
She frowns, a little crease between her eyes. ‘How do you mean?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Bonnie. How many other women have there been? You left him. Why the hell did you go back?’
She stiffens, looks perplexed, as if I’ve made a huge mistake or history has been rewritten. She nibbles a small portion of smoked salmon.
‘He apologised. He’ll never do it again.’
I put my fork down, sigh, reach for the Chablis. It’s cold and I feel the anaesthetic properties start to calm me, making me feel a little bolder and more protective.
‘I don’t know why you stay with him. He just wants you here as his trophy. The Barbie doll syndrome. Someone to dress up and keep indoors while he’s out money laundering.’
She breathes out so loudly it’s like a sharp gust of air. ‘Georgie, how can you say that?’ She clutches the knife and fork with white knuckles. ‘Adie worships me. Anyway, when you have a man who’ll do for you what he does for me – when you have a man at all, in fact—’
‘Don’t be naive.’
‘I’m not naive. You’re jealous.’
‘Jealous? Of you living with Shady Adie with the wandering womb weevil? I don’t think so.’
‘You’ve never liked him, Georgie.’ She’s going to cry.
‘Right first time. Because he’s no good.’ For her sake, I’m not holding back.
‘Why can’t you support me?’
‘Because he’s dishonest, Bonnie.’ There. I’ve said it: she needs to know.
She pouts. ‘He’s a successful businessman. A property developer.’
‘Have you ever seen any of the properties he dev—’
There’s a cough behind me and we both turn. A man in overalls is holding up a paintbrush. He’s short, stocky, fifty-something. He raises bushy eyebrows.
‘Excuse me, Mrs Carrick. Mr Carrick said I had to ask you about the feature wall in the bedroom. Did you want the new shade of Addiction or the Aubergine Dream?’
She sniffs. ‘Addiction.’ The decorator turns and shuffles off. ‘Adie’s left me in charge of Demi and Kyle’s extension.’
I gasp. ‘They’re living here?’
‘As soon as they’re back from the honeymoon. Just for a while. Until Adie finds them a house on the Wirral.’
‘I can’t imagine Kyle liking that. Or Demi.’
‘Adie