Second Chance - Jane Green [108]
‘Bacon, eggs, bread, orange juice…’ Paul turns to Olivia. ‘Was there anything else?’
Olivia looks at her list. ‘Milk. Papers.’
‘Okay. I’ll get the papers and start paying, you get the milk.’
Paul grabs a handful and stops in his tracks as he looks at the front page of the Mirror.
‘Got the milk!’ Olivia calls as she comes back up the aisle, weighed down by a giant bottle of semi-skimmed milk. ‘What’s the matter?’ And she sidles next to him, her hand flying up to her mouth as she sees the front page.
SAFFY DAFFY AND DRUNK!
Brit actress bonking Pearce flies into Heathrow, smashed!
Do you know her mystery new man? Call this number and
tell us who he is!
‘Oh shit!’ she whispers. ‘It’s you, isn’t it? I mean, you can’t see that clearly, given that you’re carrying Saffron, but it is you.’
‘Oh fuck,’ he whispers. ‘Let’s just hope to Christ nobody phones them. The last thing we need is for the press to bring Anna into it and then find out where we are. This is just horrific.’
‘What a bloody nightmare.’ Olivia sighs. ‘Don’t bring it home, let’s check the rest for Saffron-free papers, and we’ll bring those instead.’
‘What? No tabloids? What kind of a man goes out to get the papers and comes back without the rags, for God’s sake?’
‘The kind of man who wants to protect his friends from seeing yet more stories,’ Paul leans down and whispers in Holly’s ear.
‘Oh God. Is it bad?’
‘Let’s just say it’s not good. Sssh. I think Saffron’s coming. Don’t say anything, and I’ll tell you later. Here, you whisk the eggs,’ and he hands Holly the box of eggs and a large blue bowl.
Chapter Twenty-three
Saffron has never done anything by halves. When she smoked, she smoked two packs a day. When she quit, she never looked at a cigarette again… until she started again. When she exercises, she does so obsessively, two hours a day with a personal trainer, every day, lying in bed exercising in her mind, thinking of little else until she misses a day or two and then does nothing at all for months.
She can go for weeks without spending a penny, then goes on spending sprees, buying armfuls of stuff she neither wants nor needs, unable to see clearly, so excited by the buzz of shopping, like a drug addict getting high.
Or an alcoholic getting drunk.
So when Saffron falls off the wagon, she doesn’t do so slowly and gracefully. She does it in the way she does everything else in her life. Spectacularly. At great speed and to great excess.
She hadn’t meant to lose her sobriety. When she was sitting in the airport bar, her intention truly was to have one drink. Perhaps two, just to help her relax, just to take the edge off the enormous stress that she was suddenly under. Other people were able to have one or two drinks, why not her? She’d been sober for years, had been to countless parties where alcohol was being served, and hadn’t been tempted once. Of course she could handle one or two drinks, why was she so different?
Then there was the plane. First class. Champagne on tap. Why not? Just this once. Such a warm, familiar feeling. So lovely to relax as the buzz started up. She felt loose and giggly and happy. Happy again for the first time in days. She wasn’t a noisy drunk, just snuggled up quietly under her blanket downing glass after glass as the rest of the cabin fell asleep or watched movies.
She doesn’t remember much about arriving. Stewards and stewardesses seemed to be muttering in their walkie-talkies, and she was able to remember to cover her head with a scarf, push huge Jackie-O-style sunglasses onto her face. She remembers being hustled through noise, her name being called, flashes of light on her face as she giggled woozily, and then – bliss – being picked up and falling asleep on someone’s shoulder as she was carried out to a car.
Again, last night, she hadn’t meant to drink. Had absolutely meant every word