‘Carly, my life is here. How can you just pack up and take off? I don’t want you in another country, I want you here.’
He had a point. But surely what I wanted to do was important too? Was this what it came down to, his way or my way? Not again.
I thought back to Tom. Hadn’t that relationship bitten the dust because I was too stubborn to change my mind? Had I learned nothing? But then, why did it have to be so cut and dried? Why couldn’t we both make the choices that made us happy and trust that it would work out and we’d survive a temporary separation? Couldn’t he even try?
Apparently not.
Over the next four weeks, we alternated between tears and tantrums. He begged me not to go. I begged him to understand that it was just for a year, but he refused to accept that. As far as he was concerned, if I left him, then it was over. It was a no-win situation and neither of us triumphed. It had stopped being a battle of wills. Now it was just a battle.
On my final day, I made a last-ditch effort to change his mind, and Sam did the same.
‘Please don’t go, Cooper. I don’t want to live without you. Don’t leave.’
‘Then wait for me, Sam. I promise I’ll come back in twelve months.’
‘But don’t you see, if you really loved me, you wouldn’t leave?’
That old chestnut. I sighed. There was nothing like dramatic emotional blackmail to get a girl running in the opposite direction.
‘Sam, I’m going. I have to.’ It was true. I felt an overwhelming need to go to London and reconnect with my old life, my family, my friends.
He looked at me and shook his head.
‘Then go,’ he murmured, voice thick with sadness. He got up, grabbed his jacket and left.
I slowly slipped off my engagement ring and placed it gently on his bedside table. My heart was breaking. I picked up my passport, tickets and suitcase and followed him out of the door. Downstairs, I gave Huey, Dewy and Louie all my remaining Hong Kong dollars, keeping only enough to get me to the airport, then I hailed a taxi, tears blinding me, mascara running down my face like black rain.
‘Kai Tak airport, please.’
The driver looked at me quizzically. I knew what he was thinking. Crazy lady. Maybe he was right.
I never saw Sam Morton again.
Part II
13
I Don’t Want To Miss A Thing – Aerosmith
It’s the big day – Mission Manhunt starts here. Unfortunately it’s also the first day after my ‘Leaving London’ party. The next time I decide to fly with a hangover, I’ll remember this moment and stay in bed. My head feels like there’s an illegal rave going on in it. Why do I do this to myself? If that stewardess doesn’t get over here soon with the coffee, I’m going to cry. For the hundredth (maybe thousandth) time in my life, I vow to give up alcohol. Or at least drink in moderation. Okay, at least not drink on an empty stomach.
As we start our descent to Glasgow Airport, I ponder last night, or at least what I can remember of it. I know it was fantastic. Before I lost my powers of comprehension, I had counted over a hundred people. Paco looked like he was going to faint. There was loud music, even louder singing, and the waiters will never be the same again.
Last thing I remember was belting out ‘Addicted To Love’, with Kate, Jess and Carol doing backing vocals. One of these days, we’re going to listen to people who tell us that we can’t sing.
On the bright side, I’d managed to dampen down my orange complexion to a case of mild sunburn with make-up, and after washing and restyling my hair, I somehow made it settle into a passable pixie cut, as opposed to Billy Idol circa 1982.
The night wasn’t without its share of drama though. And from the most unexpected source. Carol finally buckled to our demands that she bring George, her latest bloke, so that we could give him a full inspection. Her relationship with Clive didn’t survive the swanky holiday. She discovered that he took his teeth out at night, and it was all too much for her. She said goodbye the minute they touched down at Heathrow and we haven’t been allowed to mention him since.
Not long after she got back, she met George at a photoshoot for his investment company. The first thing she did was check his dental habits and ensure his molars were the kind that stayed in his mouth. She’s only known him for a month and already there’d been a weekend in Venice, a Chanel bag and a diamond bracelet with matching earrings. He passed physical inspection – tall, grey, early sixties, Savile Row suit, Armani shirt, Oxbridge accent and when he pulled out his wallet to buy a bottle of champagne, I spotted layers of gold cards. He looked decidedly uncomfortable in the midst of the mayhem though. Poor bloke. Metaphorically that is – he owns half of Mayfair.
All was going along according to plan – lots of drinkies, lots of going-away prezzies, lots of ‘we’ll miss you’s (although a lot of these were from gatecrashers whom I’d never met before in my life, just trying to act like they belonged there).
Kate arrived, looking gorgeous in black leather hipsters and a white T-shirt, not showing so much as a hint of baby yet. How could she look that devastating after giving birth to two children and now being pregnant with her third?
Bruce gave me a huge cuddle. ‘I feel like one of my kids is leaving home, Cooper,’ he laughed.
‘Don’t worry, Bruce. The police will probably bring me back to your door in handcuffs any day soon.’
He thought I was joking. We’ll see.
A
