The Heat Is On Page 3

  ‘Mum – it must be after twelve there. Nothing’s happened has it? Is Gran OK?’

  ‘She’s in the peak of health still,’ I reassure her, ‘which when you consider the amount of cakes and biscuits she eats is quite surprising.’

  For a brief second I picture my mum donating her body to medical science when she’s gone. They’re trying to understand how she lived to be one hundred and fifty on a diet of pure sugar. Of course Mum being Mum, she’s still awake on the operating table and telling them to be careful with their scalpel things.

  ‘Mum – are you still there?’ calls Zoe with mild panic over my silence in her voice.

  I shake myself back to reality and tell Zoe about the new travel agents. I ask why it would take as long as a month to finish refitting a shop.

  ‘It depends on what they’re doing in there,’ she replies. ‘For a simple layout, I wouldn’t have thought it’d take that long. Maybe he’s had to apply for a change of use permit. What was it before?’

  I tell her it was a florist.

  ‘Then I really don’t know, maybe they’ve found damp or something. You’re not worried are you? You don’t really have any competition at the moment and I know how much you love that place.’

  I reassure her that I’m not worried at all, although having Zoe ask whether I am has the doubts I’ve been trying to suppress resurfacing. We say our goodnights and I go to bed but can’t relax. I prop up my pillow and open up a search engine. I type in ‘How to deal with a competitor’, and having scrolled through the words of several business gurus I’ve never heard of, am delighted to see that my all-time hero, Mr Richard Branson, has advice for me. Eagerly I open the page and his words fly off the screen, striking a real chord.

  ‘…you need to welcome your competition with open arms – just don’t let them walk all over you. Strike the right balance between respecting your rivals and focusing on how you can beat them…

  ‘…you must remain focused on your own team, and on your own products and services.’

  Focus and respect. Yes – I can do that.

  ‘…Show ambition, put some effort into creativity and focus on developing the next big thing and your company will emerge as the one that others want to copy.’

  ‘Focus, respect and the next big thing,’ I murmur.

  Yes, Richard, that makes complete sense. That’s what I’ll do: be respectful but focus on our strengths then develop the next big thing. I knew he’d have the answer.

  I switch off the tablet and lie down to sleep repeating my mantra as I drift off:

  ‘Focus, Respect and The Next Big Thing.’

  With a Little Help from my Friends

  Saturday proves very hard work. Word has got round that there will be a new travel agent in town soon, so it takes all our persuasive powers to convince customers that they should nevertheless book their holiday now – with us. We do fill the Niagara trip but my jaw is positively aching from smiling and pretending all is well. I am certainly ready for a party.

  Saturday night, I pick up Michael then Patty and Jack on the way to dinner; we’ll get a cab back because I most definitely need a glass of wine. The boys have been assigned the back seat. They are obviously keen to impress our hosts and have come armed with copious amounts of flowers, chocolates and wine. Patty, on the other hand, intends to impress through her sheer presence. She’s taken the ‘glam and gorgeous’ dress code to mean ‘use as much perfume as you can’ and the car smells like backstage at a beauty pageant. She’s also wrapped in an enormous feather boa that she has to keep flicking round her neck as it gets blown away by the car heater fan which she’s turned on full whack.

  ‘Turn the heater down,’ I tell her, spitting bits of fluff and feather.

  ‘Are you kidding? It’s like the Arctic in here,’ she replies. ‘Stop the car I’m getting in the back for some bodily warmth.’

  I have to do as I’m told or I know she will try to climb over the seat. Michael gets out and offers her his space but Patty settles herself in the middle, then drags him back in.

  ‘You two are keeping me warm,’ she says snuggling down between them.

  I smile at Michael in the rear-view mirror and he gives me a look of mock horror in return. At least he’s getting to know my friends.

  We pull up outside our hosts’ door and my passengers pile out of the back seat. I, on the other hand, step elegantly out. Charlie and Peter greet everyone with big kisses.

  ‘I’m not even going to ask what you were all up to back there,’ says Peter to Patty. Charlie accepts all the gifts and adds, ‘We’ll invite you guys again. Now come in beautiful people and have some champagne. There’s just one rule for tonight: no business talk.’

  I am relieved by that instruction. We head into their gorgeous home and our perfect hosts hand us a perfectly chilled flute.

  ‘This is already better than Angie’s cooking,’ says Michael raising his glass and accepting some bite-size tapas, ‘even if we eat nothing else.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ I counter, ‘I’ll have you know, I can order a mean takeaway.’

  ‘She can,’ agrees Michael. ‘She dials the number herself and everything.’

  Patty heads towards the nibbles and picks up a plate, keeping them safe from potential marauders.

  ‘Are these for sharing?’ I ask trying to wrestle it from her and offering one to Michael.

  ‘Of course, if they’re for Michael. Please take one, in fact take several,’ Patty tells him. ‘Poor lamb this is what food should taste like. It doesn’t always come coated in that black crusty stuff.’

  ‘OK,’ I protest, ‘enough with the jibes everyone. I do have other talents.’

  Patty presses her finger to her lips as if thinking very hard what these talents might be. Michael protectively tells everyone that my cooking is occasionally OK. Bless him, thinks everyone, their heads tilted to one side pityingly. Peter has made the mistake of sitting nearest to me, so he gets the friendly punch. It is so good to be back with my best friends and so far Michael seems to fit right in.

  ‘So you don’t fancy being a lady of leisure?’ he asks Patty.

  The room goes quiet as everyone else looks up horrified. The idea of Patty with time on her hands doesn’t bear thinking about. Jack chimes in, expressing our collective thoughts, ‘I can’t think of anything worse. This woman, no matter how much I love her, should never be left to her own devices. Heaven knows what I’d come home to. Please everyone, find her a job.’

  ‘Which suits my many and varied talents obviously,’ adds Patty.

  ‘They’re certainly varied,’ I murmur and get a cross-eyed tongue poke from my friend, demonstrating at least two of the aforementioned talents.

  Peter calls us to the table and serves a starter of stuffed roast peppers.

  ‘This is truly gorgeous,’ says Michael. ‘If you’d offered it on Dinner Date you’d definitely win.’

  That’s our guilty pleasure. In the absence of my girly best friend, I’ve subjected Michael to a few of Patty and my old favourite TV programmes. He really couldn’t endure the extreme body makeovers any more than I could abide the home and garden shows, but we have a giggle guessing the compatibility of couples trying to find love by cooking for each other. Honestly, the producers of this show must be in stitches as they pair up vegans and butchers to see ‘if things heat up in the kitchen’. Michael gets especially heated up if it’s a woman cooking some fabulous cordon bleu dish and the oik about to visit is armed with petrol station flowers and a bottle of Blue Nun. The fact that he believes a man should know how to treat a lady bodes well I always think.

  Back at the table, Charlie is quizzing Jack about his new role. Jack tells him that he’ll be helping children with severe allergies and skin conditions.

  ‘Getting back to what I did before I spent years applying aftersun to ladies who cruise,’ he adds.

  ‘Don’t knock it,’ says Patty, ‘all that practice has made those hands pure magic.’

  Ja
ck shakes his head.

  ‘What do I do with her?’ he asks.

  ‘Ignore her, it’s always worked for me,’ I reply.

  ‘Doctor, great hands, working with children; if you ever come over to the other side I’d have no problem fixing you up,’ says Charlie and gets a rap on the knuckles from Patty.

  ‘Step away from my man,’ she warns him.

  The evening is simply glorious. Peter follows the starter with an incredible platter of seafood and the Rioja continues to flow. Jack is the only one who gets the theme.

  ‘Been inspired by somewhere?’ he asks.

  Charlie blushes a little and I work it out for myself, the Spanish theme. Since they got back, the couple have never stopped raving about the tiny island resort in Formentera that they visited earlier this year: the food, the wine, the sun. You’d think they had shares in it. Peter, however, looks horrified to think his hosting skills may have slipped.

  ‘I never thought,’ he says to Jack. ‘You’re probably sick of all this. You were probably looking forward to good old fish and chips or a steak and kidney pud.’

  ‘Don’t worry, there’s never any shortage of British food aboard the cruise liner,’ Jack reassures. ‘And of course I come home to a tasty British bird every day,’ he adds, raising his glass to Patty.

  ‘Ker-ching.’ Charlie toasts the bad pun and Patty curtsies.

  ‘I couldn’t have put it better,’ she concedes graciously. ‘Come on then, why don’t you show us the pictures of this island that’s inspired you so much.’

  Charlie leaps up at the chance to relive the day. We all sit down together and the couple start to upload their photographs to the TV. I’ve seen them before but it’s probably impossible to tire of those turquoise seas. Formentera is a tiny island in the Balearics but a world away from the packaged tour scene. It’s where the old hippies used to convene but now it’s the A-listers who go there to get away from it all and, obviously, now Charlie too. The setting is so picture perfect, if the couple we know weren’t standing in the middle, you’d think they had been Photoshopped.

  ‘It’s hard to believe that places like this really do exist,’ I say. ‘It’s just so romantic and not that far away.’

  Michael subtly takes my hand but Patty notices and gives me a sly wink.

  ‘You two look like catalogue models,’ she says of Charlie and Peter, ‘selling pristine linen or maybe denture fixative. If you bite through a prawn in the next shot it’s the latter.’

  ‘Gee thanks, I’m not that decrepit,’ says Charlie. Then he sighs and freezes the picture zooming in on a small white building in the background.

  ‘This is where we stayed and there’s our personal hideaway. We went there every evening,’ he says. ‘It’s just paradise on earth. Whenever I dream of running a cocktail bar à la Tom Cruise, it looks just like this, serene and blissful.’

  Charlie has always said his perfect life would be to run a beach bar.

  ‘The thing is,’ he continues, ‘I’ve heard they’re looking for investors now to help grow the business. What if the new investors change it? I’d hate that. It feels like our special place and ours alone.’

  ‘I’m sure they won’t change it that much,’ I try to reassure him.

  ‘I hope not,’ replies Charlie. ‘It feels like an intrusion already.

  Some might say that I’m giddy on the wine or simply high on friendship, but I hear the words of my hero echoing through my head, ‘Focus, Respect and The Next Big Thing’. This is it, it has to be – it’s the next big thing.

  ‘Charlie,’ I declare, ‘we should invest in it and keep it just as it is.’

  Everyone stares at me but Charlie’s facial expressions move from shock, to questioning, to delight.

  ‘Do you think we could?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes, it’s just perfect. And the timing, well, it’s fate, it has to be. Richard said to deal with a competitor we have to stick to what we’re good at and look for the next big thing. This is it.’

  ‘Richard?’ asks Michael.

  ‘Didn’t you realise your girlfriend has Mr Branson on speed dial?’ replies Patty, confusing him even further and getting a scowl from me.

  As I’m making this up as I go along, I honestly have no idea what it would entail but fortunately Peter steps in.

  ‘Well, you’re not buying a resort, you’re simply investing in it to get the exclusive rights. It’d be sort of like owning a share of a very fancy holiday villa and being the only people allowed to let it out.’

  ‘But aren’t things OK with Mercury as they are?’ asks Michael. ‘How would you manage something like this?’

  ‘It would be quite ambitious I suppose but there is a really competent team on site who run everything already,’ says Charlie starting to consider the possibility. ‘And it would mean we’d have something really very special to offer our customers. What do you think Angie?’

  My mind is running at a million miles per hour. Richard’s advice seemed to make sense, but now that they’re taking my idea seriously, I can see this is a big move. I trust Charlie and he knows Mercury better than anyone, so yes, it would be a fantastic offer for our customers. Yes, it would be unique and it could be our next big thing. But, back to Michael’s question, how would it work? How much would it cost? I need to work this out for myself. Richard Branson wouldn’t invest on a whim, anyway. My heart is thumping so loudly, I’m sure the room must be able to hear it.

  ‘I love the whole idea but why don’t we start with a sensible move,’ I say to calm myself down and get my business head back on. ‘Let’s find out how much it is and who’s staying on in the management team, then get some ideas for the holidays themselves. That way we can create some projections and make sober decisions.’

  ‘Drunken ones are far more fun,’ hiccoughs Patty.

  Patty jumps up and gets a bottle of Prosecco from the kitchen. Charlie hugs me and the mood in the room lightens, my friends whoop with excitement and go from having a reunion dinner to an all-out party. Charlie grabs the flutes and leads a toast to me.

  ‘To Mercury and Angie – the Island Queen,’ he says and everyone follows.

  Michael gets up.

  ‘All these bubbles are going to my head,’ he says, ‘mind if I have a look at your garden?’

  Peter gets up to show him the way and Michael holds out his hand for me to join him.

  ‘Please feel free to pull out any weeds,’ shouts Peter as he leaves us alone.

  Outside, the clear night air is instantly refreshing. Michael links arms with me and leads me to sit in the love seat at the end of the garden. He lights the storm lantern on the little table and sitting silently we watch the silhouettes of our friends getting more and more animated as the bubbly flows.

  ‘Tell me if I’m wrong,’ says Michael, ‘but I think you made that suggestion to cheer Charlie up.’

  ‘Maybe to begin with,’ I shrug, not really sure myself.

  ‘It’s a big move,’ Michael continues. ‘If you didn’t mean it, I’ll help you find an excuse to get out of it.’

  I’m slightly taken aback.

  ‘Don’t you think I can do it?’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  He takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. I know he means well but he has to understand how much Mercury means to me.

  ‘We have to do something,’ I tell him. ‘There’s a new guy on the block now and even if he makes mistakes at the beginning, he’ll soon learn and he’ll have new ideas. We can’t just stand still. Charlie loves this place and a beach bar has been his dream life ever since I’ve known him. He didn’t have to give me the chance to become a partner in Mercury – he could have kept me on as his assistant but he didn’t, he took a chance on me when I needed it most. Now if I have the chance to help him live his dream and help Mercury at the same time, I should. If we find that the numbers do stack up, how could I refuse?’

  Michael kisses me on the forehead.

  ‘If you’re sure you want to,
I will be with you all the way.’

  I relax and smile at this lovely man.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Over his shoulder I can see Patty at the window watching us. She forms a love heart with her hands and beats it against her chest. I try to shoo her away without attracting Michael’s attention; it doesn’t work and he turns to see what I’m doing. Luckily she stops just before he sees her.

  ‘I guess they want us back in,’ he says so arm in arm we head back into the house.

  ‘You could run Top Gun holidays complete with a volleyball tournament,’ Jack is saying as we rejoin our friends. ‘Patty knows all the songs.’

  ‘This is a beautiful premium location,’ protests Peter. ‘Not an episode of Love Island with a bit of Danger Zone thrown in.’

  ‘We could host weddings,’ Charlie adds, ‘maybe specialise in the LGBT market.’

  ‘Oh and have those beautiful yurts opening up on to the beach,’ Michael adds as we settle back into the group. ‘I could build them for you.’

  ‘What a gorgeous idea,’ exclaims Peter. ‘Big safari tents would be fabulous there.’

  ‘A sort of a Camp-Glamp then,’ I add.

  ‘And I could sing “Wind Beneath Your Wings” as they walked down that sandy aisle,’ declares Patty determined to have a role. ‘Come on everyone, this deserves a conga!

  She lassos Peter with her boa then grabs his waist, pushing him around the room. Jack bellows with laughter. I’m beginning to think Patty has found herself a one-man audience who seems to love every anecdote she tells and every song she sings. Patty never really stops doing either, so this is quite a match. Jack soon joins in and Michael looks at me. I release him, so he submits to the inevitable. Only Charlie and I are immune to Patty’s magnetism and we watch her lure three relative strangers Pied-Piper-style around the room.

  It’s a funny old conga. Patty like a tall blonde nautical figurehead, clenching the eternally handsome Peter with his dark hair and twinkly green Irish eyes. If any of us have a portrait in the attic, it’s Peter. Behind her is Jack, a salt-and-pepper Captain Birdseye. He has a bizarre talent which he demonstrated at New Year – he can move each of his eyebrows independently and does it often to the delight of everyone. Then Michael, who is taller than everyone and has the slim muscular frame and light tan of someone who works outside most of the time. His fine sandy hair is turning grey at the edges but it makes him look the proverbial gentle giant. I remember him showing me a picture of himself in 1977 when he was eighteen and going through his punk rock phase. Poor lamb, his hair was so soft it just wouldn’t stick up, so he had these little tufty spikes which he told me took a whole can of hairspray to achieve. To add insult to injury, he’s always had a kind, squashy face and pale blue eyes that could do no wrong – hardly the make-up of a rebellious punk rocker. He must have been glad when that era ended.