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"Bottoms up, girl!"
Sitting cross-legged on the hotel bed, Cilla toasts the woman in the mirror with a brandy from the mini bar. Two quaffs empties the bottle.
"Ahhh! That's better!" She wipes her mouth with the back of a hand .
What on earth would Arthur think?
Cilla wags a finger at her smiling face with the two slightly prominent front teeth and new 'just out of bed' hair cut.
"Even left your shoes lying on the floor without putting them away! Naughty girl! Better wipe the smile off your dial and ring Arthur before you get too carried away."
She picks up her cell phone and dials home. The face in the mirror changes.
"Hi ya. Just a quick call to say I've got here safe and sound. You do understand, don't you, about me needing some time out? It's all for the best. Kentucky Fried? The kids would've loved that! Hey, could you just make sure Jonathan has his medicine first before you tuck him in? Oh, I'll nip across the road to the Japanese Restaurant on the seafront, grab some takeaway sushi. Then I'll make a hot chocolate from one of these little sachets, and turn in early. To be honest, I'm not up to much, feeling a bit knackered after driving all this way. What do you mean you'll be cold in bed without me? Take a hottie!" She laughs. "Goodnight now."
Cilla turns back to the mirror, waving the empty bottle.
"Don't hold much, do they!" She picks up the hotel folder. "Oooh, look, bubbly! And room service! Mmmm. Salmon en croute... Think I'll wander around the hotel first, see where the action is."
She visualizes Arthur holding the electric jug, gazing at her with mournful eyes and a reproachful smile.
"Shove off," she says, through tight lips.
...
Cilla buys a whisky and seeing a plush leather couch in a corner of the lounge, sinks into it and watches the guests.
"Such opulence," she whispers to herself, feeling the leather accommodate her body in divine suspension. She finishes her whisky and makes her way back to the bar for another, then returns to the couch. A big Emperor Moth begins to beat noisily against the lightshade above her head.
A tall guy in red jeans reading the Theatre and Cinema page of the evening paper rolls it up, crosses the room with long strides, leaps into the air and puts paid to the moth with a single blow. It falls to the carpet and lies dying at Cilla's feet, still flickering its glittering wings.
She jumps up, clapping and cheering. Others join in.
The man grins and turns around. Cilla's eyes light up as he sits beside her.
"Harry's the name. Harry Vance."
"I'm Cilla."
"Are you on holiday?"
"Sort of. Well, I'm...taking time-out."
Harry nods and looks intently at her. "From what?"
Cilla grimaces. "From following someone else's dream."
She finishes her whisky. Harry goes back to the bar, gets her another and leans in closer. She downs the whisky in one hit and holds the glass to one eye, like a telescope, staring at him.
"Hey, Harry, you sure do look funny."
Harry grins at her. "They say the world looks different through the bottom of a whisky glass."
Cilla breaks into high-pitched laughter, and splutters as she begins to hiccup. Tears roll down her red cheeks.
"You're such a wit," she chortles, slapping him on the knee.
"Or is that only half right?"
"I think you could do with some fresh air." Harry takes Cilla's hand and leads her outside. He helps her down the steps to a bench seat on the promenade, overlooking the ocean.
After a while, Cilla stops giggling and hiccupping and sits motionless, staring straight ahead. Darkness begins to fall. A passing ship stands out on the horizon against the last patch of sunset.
"My husband's a good man," she says at length, speaking slowly. "So caring, and great with the children. We're the perfect nuclear family. It's all he ever wanted." She takes a deep breath. "But I feel like I'm living in his dream! I need more from life."
Harry puts an arm around her.
"Arthur's such a kind person," she continues. "But he's weak. Weak with kindness!"
Harry eases her head onto his shoulder. She feels his breath and the softness of his hair on her cheek.
A few minutes pass.
"No, no, mustn't," she mutters, shaking her head, and moves his arm from her shoulders. The two sit in silence as the sea turns black and blends with the sky.
"The world's running out of colours," Cilla says. "Like my life." She adjusts the clip that's sliding out of her hair.
"I've missed the boat."
"I know what it feels like - to live in someone else's life," Harry says, clearing his throat. "I followed my father, did law, became a partner in a practice and wore a pinstripe suit to the city each day."
"Really?"
"I got horribly depressed. One night, I'd had a few too many, I broke down and told a friend how I was feeling. What he said came as a bombshell."
Harry turns to look at Cilla.
"He told me something I'd known deep down for a long time but never had the guts to think about. You're wearing another man's suit and it doesn't fit you. Time to get off your butt and start looking for one that does.
Cilla squeezes his hand. "And did you?"
"Yeah. Sometimes you have to take a risk. I took a few. It's a long story, with lots of ins and outs and ups and downs. But now I'm happy."
"What do you do for a living these day?"
"I'm a stand-up comedian. My stage name is Hadley Vincent. You might've seen me on TV, wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a handlebar moustache."
Cilla's eyes open wide.
"At the moment I'm amusing the rich and the bored on the cruise ship Queen of Venus, touring the Pacific. I've come ashore for a week's leave and I'll board again when they come back up from the South Island."
...
Next morning breaks warm, windless and cloudy, exactly as forecast. Tourists and holiday-makers start crowding the seafront. Cilla decides to explore and ambles north on a path running beside the beach. It stops at a broad creek, almost a lagoon, dark and stagnant.
Sometimes you have to take a risk!
She kicks off her shoes and, holding up her skirt, steps in. Her feet begin to sink in the sucking mud. She screams,
extricates herself with difficulty, and struggles to the other side.
Drawn by the fresh smell of pine trees, she strolls towards the forest ahead, following its soft path of pine needles down to the high tide mark. Clambering over a rocky outcrop, she finds herself in a sandy bay where she sits on a log, wriggling her toes in the sand and breathing in the salt air. The clouds seem to lift and the sea sparkles. Cilla gazes at the horizon for a long time.
...
Arthur and the boys are playing Snakes and Ladders in the living room when Cilla sneaks in the back door to surprise them, five days later. The boys yell with delight, rushing to kiss and hug her, then, opening their presents, dash upstairs to play with their new racing cars.
Cilla turns to Arthur who is waiting, hands in pockets, jingling coins as he always does when he's preoccupied.
"We need to have a talk. There's something I have to say."
Before Cilla can begin, Arthur fixes her with a resolute look that she has not seen before.
"I've been thinking," he says. "Before we got married, you were a fun person, full of life, a leading light at the Repertory Society and you sang like a bellbird. Me, I was thrilled just to be with you, happy as Larry, whoever he is."
"Now we're both miserable," Cilla interrupts.
Arthur continues. "I know you think I'm a boring old fart..."
"It's not that."
"What is it, then?"
"I think you're a good person and a wonderful father to the boys, but..." She stops talking and a strange look crosses her face.
"If separating would make you happy, I could care for the children," Arthur continues, "providing we agreed that was the best thing for them. But I still love you and don't want to lose you, so I've made an appointment for us to see a relationship counsellor."
Cilla puts her head in her hands.
Arthur puts his hand on hers. "And to get this boring old fart out of his comfort zone and give you an excuse to buy some new summer gear, I've bought tickets for a family cruise around the Pacific on the Queen of Venus. She leaves on the twentieth of next month."
Cilla lifts her face suddenly and begins sobbing.
"I'm so sorry," she says. "There's something I have to tell you."
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Tagged in Bruce Costello