Page 66 of You Had Me at Chateau
‘Yes,’ she confirms.
‘Right, then it’s probably best you go ahead with getting some new stuff up,’ I reply. ‘You could ask Dad to help you choose one.’
‘I’ve chosen one,’ she tells me.
‘Okay, but you know what he’s like, so he’s not going to like the fact you chose without him, even if you gave him the choice initially he would have told you he didn’t care,’ I remind her. ‘So, show him maybe three samples. Whichever one is your third choice, tell him that’s the one you want, and then you’ve got a fifty-fifty chance of him actually picking the one you want. But involve him in the decision.’
‘Okay, I can try that,’ she replies.
‘And, I don’t know, tell him you can cancel the decorators, if he wants to do it – it’s up to him,’ I suggest.
‘But he’ll do an awful job,’ she says.
‘But he won’t want to do it,’ I add. ‘Just let him think it’s his choice.’
‘You’re a very clever girl,’ she tells me with a smile.
‘One who will be back very, very soon,’ I remind her. ‘Please just hang in there. I can help when I’m home. I just need you all present and alive.’
‘Present I can do,’ she says, playfully gritting her teeth. ‘I appreciate your advice. I really do. Take care, and don’t let this ruin your trip.’
She sounds a lot calmer now, thank goodness.
‘I won’t, Mum,’ I say – because I’m perfectly capable of ruining my own trip. ‘Love you.’
‘Love you too, Amber.’
I hang up and flop back onto the bed, rubbing my temples, taking deep breaths in and out, in and out.
Oh boy, what a mess. The sooner I get home, the sooner I can try to help – not that I have any idea how I’ll actually help, which is all the more reason to focus on my book while I’m here. I have my draft, that I hate, I just need to do what I need to do, to get it done so that I can send it.
Then I can worry about how I fix my parents.
33
I don’t know who I think I am, sprawled out on a sofa in Caleb’s chalet, surrounded by an assortment of jewellery. Some of it I really like, other pieces I’m embarrassed to be wearing even as someone else. Actually, I’ve just answered my own question. Who do I think I am? I think I’m Annabelle Harvey-Whitaker, clearly.
Each piece has a story, or so Caleb tells me – that’s what it says in the info sheet he has that came with the jewellery. Not many of them have a story with a happy ending, clearly, because I don’t know anyone who would wear half of these.
Perhaps I have a dirty mind (I definitely do, which makes it ironic I can’t write spicy scenes) but the longer I look at certain pieces, the more I’m starting to see things.
‘Whatever they are paying you to make your girlfriend wear what looks like anal beads, it isn’t enough,’ I joke, striking a dramatic pose with the garish necklace dangling around my neck.
Caleb laughs as he snaps away with his camera, taking close-up shots of my neck and chest.
‘It could probably pay for that dinner we had last night… another ten times,’ he says with a wink. Then he takes a photo of my dropped jaw.
‘Oh my gosh, I love these beads on me,’ I say, sarcastic as you like, as I strike another pose.
Caleb laughs, lowering the camera momentarily. He narrows his eyes at them.
‘They do kind of look like anal beads,’ he admits. ‘But you’re rocking them.’
‘I was starting to think you got them out of the wrong bag until I saw the matching earrings,’ I reply. ‘Then again, who knows where they’re potentially supposed to go.’
Caleb chuckles, clearly having just as much fun as I am with this. He steps back to get a wider shot, and I do my best runway model impression, swaying my hips and pouting ridiculously – even though I’m facing away from the camera, to keep my anonymity.
‘Seriously, though, this stuff is a mix of fabulous and fabulously terrible,’ I say, adjusting the necklace so it sits less awkwardly on my collarbones. ‘But this is kind of fun, isn’t it? Playing dress-up. You must have a right laugh, doing this stuff for a living.’
