Fur Coat No Knickers (27 page)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The f
irst thing the following morning, I launched myself into the shower like a woman possessed. I was on a mission and there was a hell of a lot of work to do.

Once I had towe
lled myself down, I looked at my swollen and blotchy face with grim determination.
Feck.
I was gonna need a lot of work. A face-lift at the very least. But, there was no time.

My initial attempts at vajazzling myself were thwarted by my trembling hands. That
, and the fact I kept pausing to sob my heart out and wail loudly. I plastered on layers of makeup and smeared on some slutty red lipstick. Then, after looking at my reflection, I promptly burst into tears. Big black stains of mascara streamed down my face.
Feck. Feck. Feck.
I reached into the cupboard for the Clarins makeup remover, wiped it all off and started all over again.
Just don’t feckin’ cry, Tara,
I warned myself.
I’m not sure I have enough mascara left to do all this again.

Flipping my hair 360 degrees, I p
ushed through diamanté earrings stabbing myself in the neck in the process. The shock nearly made me start blubbing again, so I dug my fingernails into the back of my hand to distract myself.
There. Floodgates closed.

I walked purposefully from the bathroom and into my bed
room. Swinging open my wardrobe door, my eyes fell upon my prize. My beautiful black fur coat. As yet, Travis had still never seen it on me. I fanned myself frantically, my head zipping back to the euphoric high that had spurred me on to max out my credit card and purchase it.

I thudded my head hard against the wardrobe door remembering the highly suggestive and erotic texts that sizzled back and forth between Travis and I that afternoon. One particular text he sent
was burnt into my mind:

“The thought of you in fur coat and no knickers has made me rock hard.”

Laying the bag carefully down on the bed, I slowly unzipped the fur coat out of its pristine holder and paused. This coat was to define my mission, to ensnare his heart and win him back. I stood back and stared at it. It was a lot to expect from a coat.

‘Travis Coleman - I’m coming to get you - in a fur coat and no knickers!’

My eyes suddenly caught sight of the clock beside the bed.
Shit! Look at the time.
If I didn’t leave there and then, I wouldn’t be able to get another flight till tomorrow. Without a moment’s hesitation, I took the fur coat out of the bag and slung it on. Then, I floundered for my passport in the cabinet drawer, wrestled on my tatty slippers, shoved my Louboutins underarm and ran out of the house. 

As I
raced along the motorway to Heathrow, I tried to reflect on what I was doing and why.
This is lunacy, isn’t it?
Travis had told me
never
to contact him again. I had screwed things up good and proper and managed to alienate the man of my dreams. Maybe I deserved to feel like this.

I felt heavy with failure
, shifting around uncomfortably in my car. My thoughts were flashing back to the rip-roaring (albeit very agitated and somewhat unusual) sex we'd had that night in the Salon.

I shook my head, thumping the steering wheel in temper.
‘Damn it!’ I exclaimed in despair.

It was
all
my
fault. I hadn't responded in the most grown up manner to his mischievous wandering finger. I mean, there he was taking our sex life to a whole new level - and what did I do? Bless myself and begin reciting a Hail Mary! Then I accused him of taking my bum-ginity! No wonder he buggered off and never wanted to see me again.

Suddenly my bum twitched and began to swea
t at the thought. ‘No bloody point in sweating now!’ I yelled down at my quivering arse.

I cringed as I reflec
ted on my appalling behaviour. I had almost cried like a baby in front of him when he left. I must have made him feel terrible. I had totally embarrassed myself, and worst still… I had embarrassed him so much, he felt compelled to end us, forever.

Gulping back the sob that was growing in my throat,
I desperately tried to see the bright side of my situation. I
had
to or I would be howling and smudging my feckin’ makeup all over again. Now… what was it James used to say? Oh yes. If someone turns their back on him, he sees it as more of an opportunity.

By the time I had arrived at the airport, my stomach was clenched with anxiety. As I sat in the queue outside the
Short Stay car park, I checked my makeup in the vanity mirror. God, I looked a mess. No wonder he didn’t want me. I shook my head.
Come on, Tara,
be positive
. What would lickarse Laura say right now? Probably some psychobabble stuff about positive thinking and making things come right; I was gonna need a barrel-load of that babble, that was for sure.

After I had nosed my car into one of the few parking slots, I yanked off my warm cosy slippers and slipped on my cold
skyscraper Louboutins. The second I opened the door to get out, I felt a whoosh of cold air cut through me.

Clutching my bag
, I ignored my mobile that was buzzing ten-to-the-dozen with calls from family and friends. I walked purposefully towards the main terminal; except, I couldn’t seem to get my feet in rhythm with each other. Something was seriously wrong. I was totally off-balance and wobbly. I looked down at my feet and immediately saw the problem. I cursed James and his bright ideas. Thanks to him, I was wearing two shoes from different sets: one a five-inch Louboutin, the other a six-inch.
Argh! JAMES!

I couldn’t stop
now. I had no choice. Setting my course firmly in the direction of the main terminal, I forced myself to continue hobbling in my odd shoes. I had a driving force of passion and love and nothing was going to stop me; not even you –
yes,
you
– Big-Man upstairs.
I don’t care if it’s a sign, or if you think I’m doing the wrong thing. I’m going to ignore
you
, the way you have ignored
me
.

Once I had struggled through the interminable queue at security, I threw what little possessions I was traveling with onto the conveyer belt.

‘Remove your coat please, Miss,’ said the tall security guard, barely acknowledging me as he continued to stack up the trays. ‘And your shoes.’

‘I-I-I
… can’t,’ I stuttered, frozen in horror, my face now flaming red.

‘Remove your coat please miss, or you’re not coming through,’ pronounced the guard who had abruptly stopped stacking his boxes. His brows were now knitted together with annoyance
, as he stared straight at me. I stepped to the side, closer to the guard who visibly tensed in apprehension of what I might be about to do. His hand twitched to his side, where there was a large truncheon fixed to his belt.

‘Listen, I really can’t take off this coat,’ I whispered, looking pleadingly into his eyes.

And now the humiliating confession.
‘I’m… not wearing anything underneath,’ I said, my eyes dropping to the floor in shame.

‘Really?’ he questioned in disbelief.

May God forgive me… I threw my head up and sideward, inhaled a deep, nostril-widening breath and opened my fur coat for a nanosecond, revealing my entire naked body (well practically entirely naked, if you don’t include my vajazzle). I saw his eyes widen in shock and then he broke out into a full-grown smirk.

‘
Ah hem… okay… please remove your shoes, Miss,’ he said, still aghast, grinning and shaking his head. He then called over a female security guard to search my coat.

‘Boyfriend problems,’ I said, trying to keep my voice as
casual as possible to justify the obscenity. The two security guards exchanged glances, with raised eyebrows. ‘Trying to win him back,’ I continued, as I looked up at the ceiling with my arms stretched whilst being patted down.

I couldn’t wait to get away
once through security, I dashed towards my gate with my face still flushed red. I deployed all my usual tricks to keep my mind off what was hurting me so much, but nothing seemed to be working. I just couldn’t tear myself away from my paranoid state by thinking ahead to what I was actually going to do, or say, on the other side. It didn’t help that my eyes were irritated from a combination of tiredness, excessive crying and sloppily applied mascara. But I was on a mission.
Okay, Tara, visualise how you think this will play out.

Of course, the first thing I would have to do is actually find Travis. I hadn’t actually thought properly about how I would do that yet.

I decided he could be in one of three possible places. I would grab a taxi to the training ground first, and then swing past the local coffee haunt. Failing that, it’s then going to have to be Dougie’s house. If Travis wasn't there, I would just have to wait it out till he was.

Once on the plane, I struggled past the cramped flight deck and down the aisle
while desperately trying to prevent my fur coat from accidentally flying open to reveal all. That really would be a humiliation too far. Eventually, I spotted an empty seat near the back and squeezed my way into it. As soon as I had fastened my seatbelt, I immediately closed my watery eyes to avoid talking to anyone. For good measure, I sent my best, cold ‘do-not-even-try-to-talk-to-me’ signals to the young girl sitting next to me.

I needed a stiff drink. My nerves were absolutely shot to bits. I really hadn't thought of what I would even say to Travis when
(or if) I eventually found him. Maybe I wouldn’t say anything at all. Maybe I would simply drop my fur coat to the floor in front of him and that would say it all for me?

I visualised the scene of his stern face breaking into a smile as my coat floated to the floor. He’d step forward and take me in his arms and it would be just like it was in that fairytale hotel
where he had confessed his love to me.

The vibrations of
takeoff shuddered me back into the real world. I opened my eyes because I knew I could never sleep. I just didn't know what to do with myself. As soon as the seatbelt sign flicked off, I pressed the call button for a hostess to come to my aid. I didn’t really know what I wanted, but I needed something to bring me up and out of this stupor. I was in a complete mess and unable to stop myself analysing
this
and dissecting
that
. I just couldn’t get my head around what had happened.

I needed a drink and I needed one
now.

As my mind raced, I became aware of the young girl sitting next to me retching.
How gross.
I really didn’t need this. I fumbled around in the seat pocket for a sick bag for her (or, more accurately, for me).
Please don’t get any vomit on my fur coat,
I thought, eyes rolling. I turned my whole body away from her, my mouth now filling up with warm, foul-tasting saliva at the sounds of her gagging.

These kids obviously can’t hold their drink,
I thought, condescendingly.

‘One too many?’ I enquire
d, perhaps a little heartlessly. Post-drink recriminations are always better for the morning after. I wasn’t exactly sure if what I had said was a question or a statement, but never mind. As far as I was concerned, I really was going above and beyond. She shook her head as I handed her another sick bag while I was simultaneously pushing the help button frantically above me. I really did need a hostess to come and help. Right
now.

‘I’m so, so sorry,’ she spluttered between retches and then pointed at her tummy as she continued to gag. Now I looked at her properly, I was overcome with a wave of empathy. She was clearly pregnant.

‘Oh, you poor thing,’ I said, my voice now full of maternal sympathy. I immediately felt awful about my snap judgment of her.

‘Five months gone, still being sick,’ she confessed with a tiny embarrassed smile.

She looked way too young to be having a baby. Her face was small and pale with neat little features. Despite my sympathy to her plight, I couldn’t help thinking her boring brown hair blended in seamlessly with her boring brown polo-neck. Pushing the thought away, the mother in me took over and I pulled tissues out of my bag to pass to her.
She really doesn't want to let herself go like that,
I thought to myself, turning away from her to avoid the wafting stench.

That’s dangerous territory
, letting yourself go like that. And it’s certainly not an excuse to wear those colours. You wouldn't catch me throwing up in public with morning sickness like that. I mean, she could have at least waited until she was off the airplane and worn something a little more fetching.

I discreetly slipped my hand inside my fur coat and smugly patted my tummy, proud that my unborn baby knew how to behave. Good genes you see, they make all the difference.

Lost in my dreams, I didn’t even notice the girl had left her seat. She’d obviously gone off to finish her puking in the loos. Good… ahh yes… my double vodka and coke had arrived. I had a momentary internal tussle as to whether I should be drinking spirits in my condition, but decided one couldn’t do much harm. My baby was probably only the size of a jellybean anyway and I was sure it wouldn’t count. Besides, these were exceptional circumstances. I made my mind up and swigged it back. I instantly felt a lot better. That was a good thing, because we were just about to land in Dublin.