‘Give me a minute.’
I wiggle a few more millimetres and the door opens a couple of inches, its edge digging into my back.
‘What the hell?’ Joe stands in his shirt, chinos and outdoor jacket, observing me in my cling-film pantsuit. ‘What on earth are you doing?’
I grit my teeth. ‘Hanging out till cocktail hour? What time is it? How long have I been here? Why aren’t you wrapped in cling film? She didn’t offer you the upgrade?’
‘I had a fifty-minute back and neck massage. I’ve been waiting in the bar for an age. TheTimescrossword was considerably harder than theGazette’s. I even considered dinner as lunch wore off ages ago. Is there a reason you’re shrink-wrapped?’
‘Yeah, they’re bringing me out for the WAG buffet later and carving me up. It’s going to be really tasty.’
He glances at my chocolate-coated body. ‘Well, I think there’d be some good crackling …’ He smiles.
‘You are the only pig around here.’ I pop the ‘p’ to give the word emphasis and his grin becomes so wide it could take over someone else’s face.
‘Here, I’ll help you up.’
‘Finally, he thinks of offering!’
‘Be careful or I’ll leave you down there to go check the car again.’ He rolls me onto my back and I try to grasp his hand.
‘She seems to have coated the outside of the cling film with something as I can’t get any friction on you or the furniture. I accidentally said yes to the wine and chocolate special. But I thought I’d be lounging about eating and drinking it, not floating in a bath of it before being baked to a cinder.’
He smiles, and then giggles, and before I have a chance to react, he guffaws. ‘You have to admit it’s a little bit funny,’ he says. And I want to hate him for laughing at me. I really do. But like his tickling, it’s infectious and without any malice. Before I know it, I’m cracking the chocolate on my face. ‘I fell on my backside bolting for the door. It hurts to even wiggle now!’ My words set him off again and soon he’s doubled over. I’m envious as that kind of position is totally out of my reach.
‘Let’s rip you out of that coco-coon shall we?’ He starts to pull at the cling film.
‘No!’
If, like an Easter egg, I had a thick shell of rich chocolate around me I might be fine with that. I’d even consider being flashed and then frozen like the dog at Pompeii if there was a decent coating. But this sludge, slapped on with a spatula while a woman in a white coat was sorting out an avocado face pack? It wouldn’t even be a treat on a dessert trolley, and it’s certainly not showing my boobs off in the best light. Flipping from relief into humiliation, I cry a single tear and find I’m not mobile enough to wipe it away. As it quickly turns into a tsunami, he reaches for a tissue on one of the trolleys and wipes one of my cheeks, and then the other. His gentle reaction only releases more, and I find myself sobbing hysterically. ‘They left me, Joe. All on my own in the dark. And I’ve cracked, scabbed and sweated into a horrible mess.’
‘Daisy, it’s OK. Honestly.’ His eyes are the blue of sorrow itself as he scoops me into his arms. I smell lavender on his neck. His grip is strong, his body solid, and I feel a bit less inclined to bawl like a baby even though I’m resembling one more each minute. He doesn’t seem to mind the organic melt on his shirt, and when I’ve finally composed myself, he fetches my towel and gown. ‘I’m going to rip your arms free so you can jump in a shower. Don’t worry, I won’t unwrap you any further than that. Then I’ll go find someone to bollock and send them in to help you. I also need to check on Dad’s car. If anyone’s given that a chocolate massage, we’ll be strung up.’
Five minutes later the massage therapist rushes in. I finally have her full attention. In fact, she’s so apologetic I half wonder if she’ll get in the shower with me to scrub my back. A voucher for another spa day appears before I have my shoes on. I pocket it. It’ll make a good giveaway.
When we’ve paid the bill and returned to the car park, the final hurdle is getting into the car. ‘Oh, but wow, I can easily slip into my seat now I’ve had that relaxing body wrap,’ I say, putting a leg in the footwell while hanging on to the top of the door.
Joe starts the engine. ‘Well, my father can’t say we didn’t make the most of the facilities.’
‘I hope the WAG walks out on her husband at the altar.’
‘It’s an actor actually. I met her at the bar.’
‘Of course it’s an actor.’
He throws me a grin. ‘Dad would have been proud. You immersed yourself in the experience like Stanislavski himself. I’m half tempted to ask you about your process.’
‘I think I’m suffering non-toxic shock.’
‘Sweaty slugs are a go-to kink for some. But not me sadly. I won’t ever be able to unsee that. I think we both need some restorative karaoke.’ He turns the music up and takes up the tune.
‘Karaoke would be perfect end to the perfect day. You have your dad’s singing voice by the way.’
He either can’t hear himself or he doesn’t care as we accompany Adele all the way home.
Joe double parks in my street and the music cuts off. ‘Want any help getting out?’
‘I might need a crane.’
