Tripping on Love

Tripping On Love

Carrie Stone

First published in Great Britain in 2012 by Carrie Stone via Amazon Kindle Direct Publishing

Copyright © Carrie Stone 2012

The right of Carrie Stone to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the Author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

I would like to dedicate this book to a very special and influential person, Kathleen.

Thank you for being my inspiration and support.

Love always, Carrie

CHAPTER ONE

'So, can you tell me why you want to work for RJ Travel?' His voice startled me, bringing me back to the present moment.
 

My focus settled on the overweight, balding man sitting opposite me. His neatly pinned name badge read Ronnie Johnson, Managing Director of the low budget Travel Experience Company in which I was currently seated.

Smiling at me, he folded his arms across his protruding chest as he waited for my answer. I fought with myself to squash a sudden urge to empty the content of my plastic water cup over his smug head. Was it not enough that I had already answered an endless stream of pointless questions?

He was extremely deluded if he assumed that I genuinely wanted to work in an office that smelt of fried onions, and was on par in decorative terms, with its kebab shop neighbour. I had seen more glamour in a charity shop. Furthermore, he was very mistaken if he thought I would allow him ample opportunity to sneak sly glances at my cleavage on a daily basis.

My best friend Mel broke into my thoughts. The Mel who had been paying my half of the rent for the past three months, whilst I had sat and watched countless re-runs of daytime TV, feeling thankful that I hadn’t gotten pregnant at thirteen or run off with my mother’s boyfriend. 

I had promised Mel I would give this interview my best shot. I couldn’t let her down. It wouldn’t be fair to expect her to pay a fourth month’s rent on my behalf. Besides, I hadn't exactly been inundated with countless interview opportunities since getting fired. Beggars couldn’t be choosers. I sighed inwardly.
 

'Well Ronnie' I began slowly, giving myself time to think of something convincing to say.
  

 
'To me, RJ Travel is synonymous with the ultimate travel experience, be it an African safari' I replied with as much enthusiasm as I could muster 'or discovering the lost cities of the Inca trail. Even sailing around the Mediterranean on the QE2 in a fabulous bathing costume, perhaps whilst sipping a Mojito.' 

Ronnie held up his hand, interrupting my flow. I hadn't even gotten to the part about skiing in
St Moritz yet.

'If I may stop you there, I’d like to point out that we do not deal with bookings for the QE2 as it no longer operates a service' he said raising a questioning eyebrow in my direction.

I felt my face flush slightly, as my pulse quickened with anxiety. Why had I chosen to mention the QE2?  Of all the cruise operators, I had chosen the one that had been retired from service. Feeling my optimism fast fading, I nodded knowingly at his comment with an apologetic shrug of my shoulders.

Ignoring my oversight, Ronnie continued speaking.
 

'As you correctly suggested, we do deal with requests for cruises.' He pointed towards a large range of holiday brochures propped up on a stand behind him.

'Only this morning we took a call from regular clients, thanking us for booking them onto a Big Blue Beauty cruise' his face beamed at the recollection. 'They said it was a holiday to remember.'

I grimaced. Personally, it sounded like they had been booked onto a porn excursion. Still, I wasn’t one to say such a thing aloud. I was known for my tact.

The haphazardly fitted clock on the wall above Ronnie's head, let out a sudden high pitched noise indicating it was one o’clock. This interview was taking far longer than I had anticipated. If he didn’t get a move on, I was going to be very late for my lunch with Stella and she definitely wasn't one to be kept waiting.

I noticed his eyes once again flick down towards my barely there cleavage and I gritted my teeth, not trusting myself to say anything further, instead allowing a tight smile in his direction. Ronnie stood up abruptly; glancing over his shoulder at the clock.
 

'Well Lizzie, I think that sums things up' he said straightening his tie, seemingly unaware that it hosted a large, crusty translucent stain. 'I feel you’re exactly what this company is looking for - you’re dynamic, you’re forward thinking and you’re charismatic.’

Was this a joke? I looked at him quizzically. 

'You're offering me the position?' I asked holding my breath, waiting for his answer.

Taking a swift glance around the poky office, with its cheap furniture and lack of ventilation, I felt a strong resistance towards hearing his decision. I couldn't possibly be expected to work in such an environment, could I?

'Lizzie, welcome aboard' Ronnie exclaimed zealously, breaking into a broad smile and exposing teeth to match the colour of the walls; pale lemon. I swallowed back the bile that rose in my throat as he held out his short, plump fingers eager to congratulate me and shake my hand.

Tentatively, I reached across and encased his sweaty hand within my own. 'Ronnie, I’m absolutely delighted, you won’t regret your decision.'

What on earth was I doing? I hadn’t even wanted the job and here I was agreeing to the position with the same vigour as being offered a complimentary spending spree.

Mentally, Mel's face flashed before me, reminding me of my reasons for having to accept the offer.  It wouldn’t hurt to give it a try. Even working for one month before resigning would result in repaying Mel the loaned rental amount. By summertime, I would possibly be in a position to make a small, well, very small, dent in my credit card balance. It was the incentive I needed.

Smiling to myself, I began to feel a little more positive. Although it hadn’t been mentioned, there was the added enticement that Ronnie would possibly need someone to test newly incorporated experiences. Who knew, perhaps I would get to see the Pyramids of Egypt,
Niagara Falls or even the Prada Museum in good time.

After finishing tying up the contract and details with Ronnie, I headed out of the agency onto the high road and north towards the tube station. Relief flooded through me that the interview ordeal was over, despite producing bittersweet results. Glancing at my watch, the feeling was short lived. I was already twenty five minutes late for my lunch. I could envision Stella impatiently tapping her heels outside the pizzeria we'd agreed to meet.

Stella was my sister, my very beautiful, older sister that had effortlessly bagged herself a City Banker, Miles Conrad. That was as well as a three storey town house in Maida Vale and two handsome but highly strung, twin boys. There was no denying that she was a head turner and when both beauty and intelligence had been dished out; she'd certainly got my share too.

Growing up with Stella hadn’t been easy; at five years younger and a great deal plainer, I was the one that was often forced to knock at a neighbour’s house, to ask to borrow money for food. Something our mother shamelessly forgot to provide regularly. The food rarely materialised though. Stella would often use the money for her hair and make-up purposes instead. It was a wonder I had reached adolescence at all.

As usual the underground service was stuffy and tightly packed. I stood squashed between an over enthusiastic tourist talking loudly in Mandarin, a suited office worker who appeared as if he’d just stepped out of a mail order catalogue, and a gym slip mother with toddler in tow. 

My new green suede shoes were daringly close to the dripping liquid escaping from the toddler’s casually held beaker. Panic began to build within me. What would I do if the liquid hit my shoes? Thoughts of launching myself angrily at the child’s mother sprang to mind and I was thankful as the announcement came over the speaker, advising the next station. My stop.

The cost of my shoes had resulted in having to live on noodle pots and spaghetti hoops for a fortnight. So help the person that ruined them.  Besides, I certainly didn’t need an assault charge slapped against me. Hadn't my recent firing from my job and fiancé of six years leaving me for another woman, been enough?

CHAPTER TWO

The pizzeria was a short distance from the tube station and even from afar I could see Stella’s familiar honey coloured hair. Dressed head to toe in Racing Green, I immediately recognised her wrap dress. It was the one I had wanted but would never be able to justify buying.

Spotting me approaching, her thunderous expression told me that she wasn’t happy about being kept waiting. Feeling like a naughty child, I quickened my pace. Why did she always have that effect on me?

'Lizzie, where have you been? I’ve been standing here for forty minutes' she said heatedly as I walked towards her. 

Ignoring her outburst, I leaned forward and air kissed her cheek in our usual public display of affection.

'You told me to be here for one o’clock! Goodness knows whether we’ll still get our table' she paused to look at me with narrowed eyes. 'Which I hope you remembered to book in the first place.'

Rant over; she was already making her way into the restaurant. I followed like a helpless lamb to the slaughter. Other diner’s heads turned in both appreciation and envy, watching as Stella sashayed past them and led us to the back area to be seated.
  As always, her alluring affect on people was more than evident.

Sadly, the mesmerising energy she exuded did not apply to me. I had barely been around her for five minutes and my mood was already beginning to feel flat. In a rare moment of exasperation, I mentally willed for her heel to snap and topple her head first into a bowl of Carbonara. Preferably a hot bowl.
 

At the thought of food my stomach began to rumble. Sitting down, my gaze was immediately drawn to the free-standing desert menu, the image of the chocolate brownie causing my mouth to water.

'Well, how did it go? Stella asked picking up the drinks menu. 'Did they like you? More importantly, is this Ronnie Johnson a complete sex god like you predicted?' 

I groaned. We had only just arrived and she was already firing off questions faster than a terrorist investigation unit. I fiddled anxiously with my fork and opened the plastic coated menu set before me.

'Let's just say it certainly wasn't what I was expecting' I answered slowly, looking up and allowing myself to meet Stella's gaze.

Gone was the irate air of impatience she'd had only moments earlier. I couldn’t help but notice a happy flush developing about her. Her eyes began to sparkle as she relaxed into her seat and a radiant glow appeared to be emanating from her.
  

Putting down my menu, a sudden realisation dawned upon me. My new found interest in my sister's appearance overtook my need for food, despite my stomach's groans of protest.

'Stella are you pregnant again?!’

Excitement coursed through me; I had seen this look about her before when she was pregnant with the twins. My own body clock had been ticking louder than ever recently and what better way to sustain it than another little nephew or niece.
 

Considering I was single and had yet to hear of a second immaculate conception since
the Angel Gabriel had appeared, it was likely to be the only option I had for now. I even had a few names in mind that I could share with her. By the time I got around to using them, they'd probably be more suited to the previous decade.

Stella's jaw dropped open in shock.

'What?!' she snapped as her eyebrows furrowed questioningly.

'No I’m bloody not -
whatever made you say that?' The happy glow of radiance retreated and the irate air of anger was back, this time joined by fury. 

I bit down on my bottom lip, not daring to interrupt the flow that was about
to outpour in my direction. Stella threw down her menu.

'I can’t believe you'd assume such a thing. You think I’ve put on weight – is that it?' Folding her arms across her chest, she shook her head in disbelief. I stared on in silence.

'Has my face got fatter? I knew I shouldn’t have had that Botox in my cheeks. That's what's making me look different.'

Bending across to grab her bag, I looked on amused as she rifled manically through its contents to retrieve a compact mirror. Flicking it open, she stared at her reflection intently, poking her cheeks as she did so.

'You're right' she said, snapping the mirror shut. 'After lunch I'm going straight back to the remodelling clinic and giving them a piece of my mind.'

I stifled a grin and nodded sympathetically. It was highly likely that in approximately three hours time she'd be walking out of the said clinic, with yet more Botox housed in her face.

A waiter approached with our wine, eyeing Stella cautiously as he set down the glasses before us. She continued on, oblivious to his presence.

'No pizza for me today, it’s salads from now on' she said in a dramatic voice. 'Only salad and boiled fish' she picked up her wine glass and took a large gulp. 'And air. Plenty of fresh air.'
 

The waiter caught my gaze and smirked at me in amusement. I had to remedy the situation. As usual everything I'd said had been taken out of context.

'You’ve totally misunderstood me Stella' I said shaking my head in bewilderment. 'I couldn’t help noticing that you’ve got this look about you. You look fantastic. I know it sounds a cliché but you are glowing. So is there anything I should know about?' I winked conspiratorially.

She stared at me wide-eyed. A faint blush began to spread across her cheeks, as she lowered her gaze. Reaching across the table, she slapped my hand lightly.

‘No, you first, I want to hear all about this interview.’

I was momentarily stunned. It was very unlike Stella to pass an opportunity to talk about herself. A selfless moment in her world was rarer than a pink elephant. Pushing aside my intrigue, I grabbed the chance to steer the conversation in my direction. Encoura
ging her to divulge her secrets would undoubtedly lead me to regretting asking. In any case, the likelihood was that it was probably linked to some form of plastic surgery reconstruction.

‘OK’ I began. 'Firstly, Ronnie Johnson has about as much sex appeal as Kermit the frog. My psychic radar had obviously failed me on that one.'

Stella looked on disappointed at this revelation.

'Secondly, although the place is dingy, it does have slight potential. I could get creative with a low budget, some MDF and a few tins of paint.'

Clearly I had been watching far too much daytime TV. Sixty minute house renovation had made more of an impact than I’d suspected.

'Lizzie, you don’t know how to change a plug, let alone build a desk' she said sarcastically. She had a point. Ignoring her sarcasm, I continued.

'Thirdly, the salary is minimal. It works a lot on commission.'

Wriggling her nose at my revelation, Ste
lla picked at her napkin absent-mindedly. Something was clearly distracting her.

'I know. Not great is it?' I said sadly, nibbling on my nail as she tried to stay focused on the conversation.

'No, it isn’t. Especially as you can barely sell things on Ebay, let alone try to make commission on selling holidays to clients.'

Biting my tongue, I resisted the quip that if it was her clothes I was selling on Ebay, I wouldn’t have a problem since they had designer labels. Mine on the other hand, were bought from low budget shops to begin with. Who in their right mind, would want to pay more than a few pounds for a used garment that had cost the same to begin with?

Stella picked up her near empty wine glass.

'Don’t worry, you'll get more interviews. I'll have a word with Miles; see if he knows of anybody looking for an Office Junior.'

Office Junior? Seething, I shook my head in disgust and gritted my teeth in frustration. Stella knew full well that I had spent the last ten years working my way up through the private banking sector. My last role had been managing a team of four others. Except the split from Will had meant I’d taken my focus off my work. And my team. 

It had come as a great shock when it was revealed that Silent Simon had been skimming money from various client accounts. I would never have suspected such a thing of him with his quiet, reserved nature. It wasn’t any wonder that he hadn’t said much within his six months working alongside me. As it turned out, Silent Simon was in fact Swindling Simon. Unfortunately the buck had to stop with me. As his Manager, I had also been forced to pay for his actions, resulting in my dismissal alongside him.

The waiter approached and set down our food. The aroma of the steaming sun-dried tomato and pasta dish filled the air in front of me. Stella looked less than impressed with her green salad and grilled vegetable accompaniment. I raised my glass tentatively.

'I’d like to propose a toast' I said indicating for Stella to follow suit. She looked at me quizzically.

'What are we toasting? That I'm on a diet or that you're still unemployed?'

Grateful for the prompt, I allowed myself to grin excitedly.

'As a matter of fact Stella, I’m not’ I retorted, watching as she looked at me in confusion. 'I am now a fully fledged RJ Travel Advisor' I said, proudly clinking my wine glass against hers.

Quite obviously flabbergasted, she made no attempt to reciprocate the gesture or congratulate me.
 

'You got that god awful sounding job?' she asked, her face a look of utmost horror.

‘Yes I did.’

Taking a large mouthful of my pasta, I chewed purposefully, hoping to hide the disappointment that was sweeping through me at her lack of support.

OK, so I had accepted a job that didn’t sound in the slightest sense appealing, yet only this morning I'd had a feeling that good things were about to happen. Almost as if events were about to be presented that would radically change things for the better. Perhaps this was the start of a new cycle of positivity. My only hope was for other areas of my life to also unfold soon. I had a wish list as long as my arm. In fact, both of them. Plus my legs.

CHAPTER THREE

I arrived home to the flat I shared with Mel a little after three o’clock, and slightly more tipsy than I had intended. The flat was empty and in its usual chaotic state. Everywhere I looked, clothes hung on rails, lay heaped in piles on the floor and overflowed in plastic bags.

Mel usually spent this part of her day doing home visits to clients. She ran a reputable vintage clothing resale business. The sort of idea people dream of doing, but have no clue how to go about setting up. For Mel it was easy; her late mother's wardrobe housed more Vivian Westwood than Vivian herself. A simple clothes party she'd arranged in order to relieve herself of some of her mother's belongings, had since turned into a goldmine. Mel's name was on the lips of celebrities to socialites.

We'd met in the school playground twenty three years earlier when she'd offered to share he
r spam and egg sandwich with me, perhaps correctly sensing that I didn’t have a sandwich in my lunchbox like the other children. Mine was empty. 

Many years later and she was
still as generous and as crazy as ever. Her eccentric, outgoing nature combined with sensual Latino looks, made her very popular amongst both men and women alike. In general, she was one of those happy people that smiled constantly. 

It baffled me how she could keep on smiling, even when she found out that the expensive print coat she had recently purchased, was reduced by seventy percent just two days later. Or when the very
exclusive French skincare range she’d made her aunt bring her back from Paris, appeared on the shopping channel for a ridiculously low price that very same evening. But Mel was not a worrier; she lived her life to the full and often threw in a bottle, or two, of wine to help her along.

I headed towards my bedroom to the back left of the house, passing the large floor-length mirror in the hallway. I nonchalantly glanced at my newly slim figure. Three months was all it had taken to reduce me from a very healthy size ten, to a very slender size eight.
  Three months, twenty two days and fifteen hours, since my fiancé had walked out on me, to be precise. 

My new petite frame suited me, especially since I’d eradicated the bleach blonde hair that Will had favoured, and instead returned to my natural brunette roots. I looked different, good different. I didn’t want to be the Lizzie anymore that was part of 'Lizzie and Will'. I wanted to just be 'Lizzie' again. The Lizzie I had been before I had met Will. The tanned, fun, easy going, pint sized Lizzie. Except my heart wasn't quite ready
to fully embrace single Lizzie just yet.

I sat down on my bed, kicking off my heels and tossing my suit jacket to one side. Reaching into my bag, I grabbed my notebook, opening it onto my recent to do list and scanned the entries.

1.  Clean the flat (including under bed) 

2. Pay minimum payment off all four Visa and Mastercard bills

3. Apply for new credit card with 0% balance transfer 

4. Ring IST debt collection and advise Lizzie Saunders emigrated abroad

5. Get a new job/ apply for jobs

6. Check Ebay bid status on Marc Jacobs bag ID 42839 – maximum bid of £300

7. Return mother's calls – AVOID arranging a visit