I’m suddenly overwhelmed by a desire to press my whole face right against his beard, to feel what it would be like to nestle into this warm, comforting nest, like a baby bird coming home.
“I mean, you’re actually pretty all right, Ted, underneath your disguise of scruffy clothes and that horrible old cap you wear. I see you in there—Beardy McHottington.”
I swipe my other hand at his chest, and he catches it, before I stumble, so he’s now holding on to both my hands. His eyes are drilling into me in a way that makes my brain feel suddenly sober, and my feet even less steady on the sand. Then I lean forward to kiss him, all logic washed away by this wave of need. I see in Ted’s eyes that he’s not going to stop me.
Ring, ring.
My head darts left and right, looking for the source of the strange chirruping. It’s my phone. I pull my hands away from his, searching my handbag with fumbling fingers. Shit, how did I get this drunk? Bloody Sandy and her “special recipe sangria”!
“Laura, ignore it, just once,” Ted says, his voice imploring.
I can’t not get it; it might be about work, or my suitcase. Was I really just about to kiss Ted? I finally clasp the phone and accept the call before it stops ringing. Glancing back at Ted, I see the heat in his eyes dampen.
“Hello, Laura speaking,” I say, biting my lip to make myself sound less drunk.
“Hi, Laura, this is Jasper Le Maistre—I believe we may have each other’s suitcases.”
TIGER WOMAN ON ALCOHOL
Tiger Women do not need alcohol. It poisons the brain and pollutes the soul. People use it to escape, to find confidence, to soften the edges of reality. Do not soften your reality—keep your senses sharp. You must be present to catch your prey. Drink water. Eat power. Be roar.
Chapter 15
“Jasper! Hi!” I say, swinging away from Ted. There is a sobering chill in the wind, and I rub my arm with my free hand.
“I must apologize for not being in touch sooner, I hope it hasn’t been a huge inconvenience.” His voice, it is him, it’s Hot Tampon Man! No, don’t call him that.
“It’s fine, though I’m afraid I did get cold and borrow one of your jumpers, hic.” I slap a hand across my lips. Did I just hiccup into the phone? I hear Ted make an amused sound next to me.
“Well, you’ll be pleased to hear I haven’t needed to wear any of your clothes,” Jasper says, his voice as smooth as I remember it. “Where are you? I can bring you your bag straightaway.”
My stomach swirls, and I clasp my hand tighter around my mouth, swallowing down an involuntary gag. I don’t want Jasper to come here—he’d just drop the bag and leave. Plus, I’m far too drunk to make a good impression—I need some water, or coffee, or a time machine to go back in time and drink less sangria—anything that might sober me up.
I look back up at Ted. Did he know I was about to kiss him? What was I thinking? Ted is technically married, way too old for me. There might be elements of hot mess about him, but no. Why am I even thinking about this? Jasper is the one I want to kiss; Jasper is the man I’ve been looking for.
“I’m just at a party with some friends.” I cough, suppressing another hiccup. “But if it’s not too late, maybe I could come to you to swap the bags in half an hour or so?”
I feel my stomach lurch again. Jasper says that’s fine—in fact, he sounds keener on that idea. I shove the phone in Ted’s direction and mouth “address” with pleading eyes, before sinking to my knees to try to make the world stop spinning. Wow, I really do need some water.
“Yes, I’m her friend,” I hear Ted say, clearing his throat. “I’m local, you can tell me the address.”
He’s my friend, that’s nice. Would Ted pass one of those quizzes they have in teenage magazine, “How Good a Friend Are You?” He bought me Jersey wonders today and found me a Phil Collins CD. He’s a really good listener. Now he’s getting Hot Suitcase Guy’s address for me. So, yes, I’d say he’d score pretty highly on a friends quiz.
“Are you all right, Laura?” Ted asks once he’s hung up.
I sink into a starfish shape on the dry sand.
“Sorry, I’m not used to drinking so much,” I say feebly. “I just need some water.”
“Maybe it would be better if you collected the bag tomorrow?”
“No, I’ll be fine.” I wave him away, trying to get up, but then after two steps, I find myself lying facedown on the sand again. What is it with sand? It’s so wobbly to walk on; I’m not sure how anyone does it. It’s like a moving, shifting carpet. Even if I was sober, I’m not sure how I’d manage to walk on it.
Without saying anything, Ted reaches an arm around me, props me up, and walks me steadily back toward the footpath up from the beach. I don’t protest. When we get back to the cottage, Ted is still holding me up.
“Zorry, Ted.” I hear myself slur. “I’m zo embarrassed, that zangria really hit me.”
“Come on, I’ll make you a sobering brew.”
We go inside, and Ted sits me on the bed, then fetches me a large glass of water.
“Thank you,” I say, gulping it down gratefully, as he goes back through to the kitchenette to put the kettle on. How did I go from fine to jelly brain in—I check my watch, the party started at six and now it’s eight. OK . . . and I haven’t really eaten anything since the Jersey wonders. No wonder I’m wasted. I stumble through to the bathroom, realizing I’m going to be sick, and manage to shut the door behind me just in time. This is mortifying. I don’t think I’ve been sick from alcohol since I was a teenager. Did Ted hear me throwing up? Cold shower—that’s the answer. I need to change anyway; my dress is damp from lying in the sand. There’s nothing as sobering as—
“ARRGGGGHHHH!”
“What’s wrong?” Ted knocks sharply on the bathroom door.
“Nothing, just in the shower and it’s cold! Out in a jiffy joff!”
Jiffy joff? Who says that? I gulp down some of the water as it flows over my face, then grab my toothbrush and brush my teeth in the shower. The only good thing about being sick is that now it’s only a matter of time until I feel sober. It’s like turning your phone on and off again when it gets all glitchy. The shower helps, and I emerge in my towel feeling considerably clearer headed.
Ted is waiting for me in the bedroom, holding two cups of tea. When he sees I’m wearing only a towel, he averts his gaze, mumbling that he’ll wait outside. I’ve noticed his ears go red when he’s embarrassed. I love that Ted’s this strong, manly- looking guy, who at times can seem so sure of himself, but then something innocuous like a woman in a towel can get him all befuddled. Through the window, I see him take a seat on one of the cottage’s patio chairs. He shifts uncomfortably—it is too small for him—and I find myself smiling, grateful that he is here.