I’m gonna go home and tell Tori we’re moving to Dubai. I’m gonna say, “Babe, pack your bags, we’re moving to Dubai.” If Leon Taylor can get a job in some fancy international school, then Mr Farley can, too.’
‘At least you won’t have to go to your ma-in-law’s for Chrimbo,’ Snowy says.
I spit the packets of crisps into the middle of the table.
‘How’s your Lisa?’ Griffo asks.
I just shake my head, roll my eyes and to my relief we mutually agree it’s time to have a go on the quizzie. Well, three of us anyway. Nobody can tear Mikey away from his phone, stalking Leon Taylor on Facebook and obsessing about how to ask Tori if they can move to Dubai.
29
Zara
‘You decide yet, ma’am?’ The nail technician grins.
Well, if a grin could kill.
I apologise and shuffle in my flip-flops. No, I haven’t decided yet.
A woman waiting to pay taps her credit card on the reception desk while the other nail technicians ignore her, chattering amongst each other and pretending to look busy. She checks her phone and releases a heavy sigh. I can see how much she’s trying to be patient. Customer service is excellent in Dubai. When you demand it.
‘Please,’ the woman says, squeezing a polite smile. ‘I haven’t got all day.’
I catch her eye, give a sympathetic nod, but in truth I’m envious of her. Not because of her glorious height or even the brilliant bling shining from her left hand, but because this woman doesn’t have something I’ve got. All. Damn. Day. I wouldn’t be killing time in a nail salon with Marina otherwise.
Analysing my mood, I run my index finger across the rainbow of colours. Something with a sparkle? No, something pastel, like lemon or baby blue? Oh, no. Perhaps, a blast of shocking neon? Or, how about plain old red? Standard pink? Black? I go back to the beginning again, then make a decision. White. The label beneath the bottle calls it ‘Blizzard’.
‘This way, ma’am.’
I’m led into a clinical white-tiled room by a nail technician with the name badge Rubylyn, and settle myself into a big white chair. Music trickles through the speakers, pleasant sounds strung together to make some sort of relaxing noise, rather than a tune. Not that any of the women getting treatments are listening. They’re all wearing headphones and watching the plasma screens hung upon the white walls playing episodes of New Girl. Or they’re like Marina, who’s reclining on the chair beside me with a whole entourage of technicians painting fingers, toes, threading eyebrows, waxing upper lips, fitting eyelash extensions … the list goes on. And, due to the amount of staff tending to Marina, just one lady is assigned to do my feet first, followed by my hands.
‘Not a problem,’ I say. ‘I’ve got all day.’
Rubylyn doesn’t offer me any headphones so I take out my new phone, a gift from my papa. It’s a gift out of guilt rather than kindness. When I arrived back at his villa a couple of days ago, it was a surprise to find him there, lounging on his leather sofa in golf attire, having flown back from Saudi early. Apparently it was a public holiday, announced at short notice and not uncommon in the United Arab Emirates, but news that had slipped off my radar due to being out of the country.
‘Where’ve you been?’ he asked me.
I was speechless.
‘Looks like you’re moving out,’ he laughed. ‘Why so much luggage?’
‘I was,’ I said.
‘You was what?’
‘Doesn’t matter.’
I decided to take my things up to my room, one suitcase at a time.
‘Hey.’ My papa stopped me. ‘I know when my daughter’s upset. You’re upset.’
‘Oh, really?’
‘What’s with the attitude?’
‘Papa. I was moving out. Remember?’
He removed his glasses, narrowed his eyes as if calculating numbers in his head.
‘I told you.’
‘Told me what? When?’
‘That I was going to live in England, Papa. You took Marina and me for dinner at the Sheraton, that Thai place with the jumping fish, and I told you about how I’d—’
‘Wait, wait, wait. Slow down, Zara.’ He stood up, switched the TV off. ‘What’s the jumping fish got to do with anything?’
Again, I struggled to find the correct response. Hoisting my suitcase up the marble staircase, I couldn’t believe that my own father had forgotten. Actually no – I could totally believe it; as clear as the sky is up and the sea is wet; my own father had forgotten.
Well, at least I’ve got a phone now. A good one, too.