Cowboys and Englishmen

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

I eyed the mess of wrappers on the passenger seat, crumpled Big Mac boxes and the sorry remains of a chocolate muffin. The scenic village of Carrow lay in front of me, dotted over the hills like something from a fairy tale, high above the valley and straddling a meandering river that snaked down into Carrow Lake. I'd been here many times before, usually during half term holidays, when my father would meet up with Tory politicians in a stuffy stately home to go fox hunting and drink vintage whiskey. Of course Melissa had picked this village as the location for her ostentatious wedding.

'Daddy' had been so pleased, Lissa has said as much in her monthly newsletter. Something she'd inherited from Mum, and I really should defer to 'junk mail' status. Every month, I'd get the usual emailed insight into her 'privileged' life. Tales of yachts and tea parties with the Middleton’s, skiing in the Alps and dress fittings for lavish balls in Monte Carlo. Melissa had been everything my dad could have asked for, attending Cambridge University, and then joining daddy dearest in his London offices, almost immediately being promoted to management. She wore all the right things, gave speeches that had corporate audiences on their feet, and she was everything I wasn't. Last year, she had appeared in British vogue, dressed in designer garments, and draped across the front of the issue looking like a seasoned professional.

Whenever I saw photos of myself tagged on f*******: I either looked like I had a hundred chins, or stood so ungainly that I looked two stone heavier than I actually was. And the wedding pictures would be no different. Le sigh. I'd spend days un-tagging myself in the vain hope that no attractive males I met in the future would ever come across them. But who was I kidding? The best I could hope for was Tarquin the tool. Not that that was ever going to happen. He wasn't even a last resort. I'd rather become Aunt Victoria in a heartbeat than slip under the covers with him. The thought made my skin crawl, as if a swarm of ants covered every inch of my skin. And he was waiting for me; we'd agreed to meet outside the Marques Manor, a mansion with thirty six bedrooms, hired out for the week. The manor was an upmarket hotel, where a one night stay would set you back a pretty penny, but my father had insisted that Lissa have the whole place dedicated to her special day.

And of course she agreed, she wasn't paying for it, after all.

I looked back at my beaten up Minnie Mouse suitcase, packed with dresses I'd borrowed from Donna in the vain attempt at looking mildly presentable, and I groaned. Like high street labels would fare in comparison to the cocktail gowns my sisters friends would be wearing. But then I had a word with myself. Flipping down the sun visor, I glared at myself, narrowing my eyes fiercely at the reflection I saw.

'You are not one of them. So what, you wear dresses you bought in the supermarket whilst buying your meals for one. You're making your own life.'

I flipped the visor back up, and took a deep breath. Donna was right. I needed to enjoy this. Make the most of the free room, the free food, and Tarquin? I didn't need him. Boyfriend or no boyfriend I could play the confident care free ex-girlfriend, plastering a smile on my face and eternally grateful for my freshly dyed mane. It was a little Morticia Adams but nothing I couldn't play up with a dash of scarlet red lipstick and a smile.

...................

'Oh goody!' Tarquin clapped his hands together as I got out of the car. I'd chosen a red wrap dress, and now wished I'd worn a turtleneck. I could hear his heavy breathing from here. Vomit.

'Tongue away Tarquin.' I chided, opening the backseat to slide out my case.

'You look absolutely delectable.' He enthused, coming towards me with intent. I shoved the case between us, and accidently whacked him in the crotch.

'Owwwww' he squealed, stumbling backwards, just as a figure appeared on the stone steps of the sprawling, intimidating mansion. I should have seen this coming.

'Sam?'

I squinted, moving away from Tarquin, who was now using the side of his convertible Mercedes as a crutch. My bad.

'Sorry mate.' I mumbled, half-heartedly, as the figure came into focus. With the sun behind him, he looked like an angel, gliding towards me. He was thicker set than I remembered, the unmistakeable sign of muscle growth, designer stubble on his face, and my heart fell out of the bottom of my stomach right there. Because I couldn't do this. Not on my own. I felt tears stinging at my ducts; desperate to give away my pathetic nature to a man I wanted to see me as strong and unaffected. Scott. My Scott.

And then he saw Tarquin.

'Hey bud!' The two men shook hands, chattering excitedly between one another, and I looked longingly at my ford focus, wondering if I could make a getaway whilst they were engrossed in conversation. Mind muddled, I backed against the car, just as the most stunning woman I'd ever seen floated down the stairs. She was elegant like a Dior model, hair shimmering like gold in the sunlight, skin dewy and tanned, and a slender figure showcased in a tight, pale blue sundress. And not the kind you can buy in a supermarket.

'Scotty I just spoke with the nanny. Gabe just went down for his nap. I asked her to put a photograph of us on his mobile, so he can see us while he falls asleep.' Her voice was saccharine sweet. And high pitched, so high pitched I was surprised dogs nearby weren't howling.

She stopped talking as she spotted me, loitering near the cars.

'You must be Samantha?' She surprised me, by extending her hand, and shaking my sweaty palm firmly. Damn my sweaty palms! 'Tarquin told me all about you last night. It seems that you've made quite the impression.'

'I uh....'

'Sam and I haven't been seeing one another for long, sis, but it feels special. Doesn't it, Sammy Boo?' Tarquin had recovered, grinning like an i***t.

Hold on one second. Sis? As in sister? The goddess before me was related to the troll I'd just thumped in the winkie? I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and flashed a smile in Tarquin's direction. 'Oh yes, special is the word I would use.'

'I had no idea....that you were, that you and Tarquin were dating?' Scott shoved his hands in his pockets, squinting in the sunlight, and giving me his full attention. But I didn't like him looking at me. It made me want to run. And running would make me look pretty mental.

'Yeah. It's recent. It's a recent.....development.' I couldn't think of anything else to say.

'Well, Tark is an amazing guy.' He paused, as the goddess Miranda draped her slender arm around his waist. And then that bile became all too much to bear, as Scott's lips met hers, and right in front of me, he snogged her face off. I turned my head, trying to take in more air, but it wasn't working. A mixture of the two Big Macs, the cake, Tarquin and this public display of affection had me gagging. I heard the most hideous noise and realized it was me, heaving.

'Oh golly, Sammy?' I felt Tarquin's arm slip around my waist, and that's when I knew I couldn't stop this from happening. I turned to the offending waist grabber and threw up. All down his shirt.

.....................

I sat in the lobby, looking up at the highest ceilings I'd ever seen, while some prestigious doctor, and a friend of Melissa's, checked me over. Tarquin paced the chequered tiled floor, marching up and down while the grand old duke of York pounded through my head. Tarquin was good at the dramatics, I'd give him that.

'Stop. Effing. Marching!' I screeched scaring the doctor, Tarquin, and I, as the sound echoed. Scott and his wife had disappeared following the vomiting incident, who wouldn't disappear after that, and I felt even worse than before. Because now I was left alone with an imbecile. And worse still, I'd got sick all over Donnas fake Louboutins. I'm squeamish when it comes to bodily fluids, so I didn't fancy running them under the tap. I'd have to endure Donna's wrath when I got home. Tarquin perched himself on the bottom step of the grand staircase, head slumped in his hands, looking like a bored child.

'Well you look fine!' The doctor said, leaning back to regard me more closely. 'But I'd say the excitement of the wedding has caused this little....episode. I'd like to see you taking it easy for the remainder of the day. I'm aware the rehearsal is this evening, but until then might I suggest that you relax and....' The good doctor broke off, eyes aimed towards the staircase. A sudden, thick heavy silence fell upon the space, and I turned around in the creaky wooden chair, to see my father standing on the landing. He always commanded that kind of reaction. I rolled my eyes, trying not to look directly at him. Like if I stayed still he wouldn't realize I was here.

He sailed down the stairs looking like Dracula, in a double breasted black suit, a stuffy blue tie and his unnaturally black hair combed backwards. Tarquin stumbled, as he attempted to stand up a little too quickly steeling himself against the bannister as Dad passed him and headed towards me. I felt the same dread in his presence as I always had. He was very good at being passive aggressive, an expert at making someone feel an inch tall, which is probably why he's such a good businessman. And a pretty crappy father.

'Samantha Jane.' He greeted, extending his hand, and it shook it, a wooden act that felt absolutely ridiculous. 'Your sister has been in her room since last night. She feels that the situation with your dress has set the tone for the wedding. I suggest you speak with your sister. I made some calls, Samantha Jane, and there was no police report logged for your so-called dress mugging.'

I swallowed. 'I...I didn't think it was worth bothering the police....'

'Your sister isn't worth it?'

'I didn't say that.'

'Samantha you claim to want your own life, to relinquish your place in this family on some romantic whim, but you cannot take responsibility for yourself or your actions. Tarquin, Dr Milano, would you give me a moment with my daughter?'

They disappeared in a matter of milliseconds and dare I admit it, I had hoped Tarquin wouldn't leave me alone with the man. As their shadows faded away, I heard my father c***k his knuckles. I'd heard him do it before, usually in negotiations with clients; it was a sound that would make even the most hardened professional wet his tighty whiteys.

'You know all these years I've managed to stop the press from finding your whereabouts, my connections are vast and unparalleled.' He paused, narrowing his eyes. 'But I am growing tired of your...rebellion. And your utter disregard for your family.'

I was speechless. But then I always was, in his presence. He seemed to have this ability to make my mouth run dry, like after all these years, in some demented way, I still craved his approval. So far, this wedding was like the ultimate punishment. It wasn't enough that my fake boyfriend was a p*****t and my ex-boyfriend was married to a supermodel, but now dear old dad had reared his head and my sister was upstairs being melodramatic. There's no way I could wear that dress now without looking like Miley Cyrus with everything on display.

Washing it three times to remove the wine had also shrunk it three sizes, and I wouldn't even be able to fit my big toe in it now.

Dad’s phone rang, as always, the busy man, and I slipped away, heading down the corridor with no real sense of direction, just an overwhelming urge to put distance between myself and the disapproving patriarch with almost a billion pounds in the bank yet zero respect for his eldest daughter. I kicked off the sick covered heels and strode purposefully into an ornate lounge, and as the door closed behind me, and I knew there was enough distance between me and my psychotic father, I screamed.

I did the whole holding the sides of my face, 'gahhhhhh' thing, whilst banging the back of my skull against the oak door.

And that's when I realized I wasn't alone.