Enough dawdling. I grab my top and bag off the floor and lunge for the main bathroom. Yesterday’s memories are threatening to pour out the floodgates but I hold them back. First, we freshen up, then we fall into a pit of humiliation.
Hands planted either side of the basin, I take stock of what I look like. Smudged mascara, sex hair and dry eyes from wearing contacts for too long. My back up glasses add more shit to the already steaming cess pit.
With vision returned and teeth freshly clean from my handy travel refresher pack (you learn quickly when your job necessitates flying around the globe), I feel semi-human again. Time to face yesterday.
I met my dad again.
And I hadsexwithJack Bowden.
I shudder. I never want to think about those two back-to-back ever again.
I told him about my intimacy issues. Why did I do that? Why do I always feel like I have to be honest with him? I don’t. In fact, it would benefit me to keep everything to myself. We have to work together after this. It’ll be hard enough interviewing him whilst trying not to think about the way his tongue undid me. Now I know every time he looks at me, I might as well have ‘DADDY ISSUES’ scrawled across my forehead in lipstick.
I let out a long, aggrieved exhale to give me the strength to put on some semblance of clothing and resurrect my phone. I just need ten minutes to sort myself out then I’ll call a cab. Yes. Plan.
Why are there white bars in here like a disabled toilet? Unusual to see in an able-bodied person’s flat. I don’t have time to ponder because the deluge of messages are pinging so fast I can’t read any of them. Self-pity returns with a vengeance when I see who most of them are from.
Mum: Call me when you can. We need to talk about what happened on the show. Hope you’re ok lol x
Mum: As if he thinks it’s fine to just walk over and start chatting to Brian sodding O’Connell!! That’s so like him. He barely acknowledged you!!! I’m spitting feathers lol x
Mum: He looks old. Good.
Mum: Minnie Macklin Roberts, call your mother you ungrateful child!
Mum: Why are his teeth so white? You can see them from space.
Mum: Do you think he still has the same secretary? I have half a mind to call her and tell her EXACTLY what I think lol x
Mum: CALL ME RIGHT NOW!!!!!!
I can’t deal with her yet. My WhatsApp’s flooded with friends who saw the show and want to know how I am, with the sole exception of Étienne who’s wondering where I’m staying and do I also have a dodgy stomach. Apparently Kurt’s been complaining that it was the salade niçoise, but Étienne’s sent me a long voice note in rapid-fire French explaining why that couldn’t possibly be the case.
Instagram’s similarly clogged. My attention’s piqued by the handle @sircroberts1974 requesting to send me a message. I click into his profile but it’s private. To prove to myself it can’t be, I humour the account and click into the message.
Hi Minnie, it’s Dad.
I’m so shocked I sink onto the toilet lid.
It was lovely to see you today. It wasn’t how I pictured our reunion but I’m very pleased we bumped into each other. You look well. I’d like to meet for coffee tomorrow, or Monday if you’re staying in Monaco? We have quite a lot to talk about. Let me know when you’re free and I’ll have Valérie send you the time and place. Dad.
What the hell?
My dad hasInstagram? The man who taught Mum lol means lots of love?
And he wants me to arrange to see him with hissecretary? The cheek of the man. He hasn’t changed at all. I’m not a business meeting.
I can’t face this now either. The Monaco Grand Prix show starts in seven hours and I stink and feel gross and my stomach’s about to eat itself and I’m way overtired and quite sore and why is Chris Brown playing in the kitchen?
I creep out to find a shirtless Jack rooting around in the fridge. I have to admit it’s a very enjoyable sight. His muscled back ripples as he reaches for ingredients. His arms are toned but not heavy, with a hint of a tan.
He starts when he sees me like he forgot I was here. But he can’t have – there are two empty mugs on the counter.
‘Coffee or tea?’ His voice sounds gravelly and he clears his throat. ‘I have Earl Grey shipped in?’
‘Coffee please,’ I say in a small voice. He’s really cooking me breakfast. After a one-night stand. Who does that?
He turns to his Nespresso machine. ‘There’s a shirt on my bed if you want it.’
