> I mean it. U should just come home. I love u too. To the moon and back.
> Night. Xxx
> WhatsApp me the second u wake up in the am babes. Sweet dreams. Xxx
*
There’s a split second between peeling my eyes open and full consciousness, a second when I’m in bed at home with Lucas, and my biggest problem of the day is teaching some tone-deaf kid how to play the recorder without farting every time he blows into the instrument. Or trying to get gum out of a nine-year-old’s hair without having to cut it out. When mothers deliver their kids to school in one piece in the morning, they aren’t so happy when they have clumps of hair missing at pick-up time. Hey, I was still a trainee teacher; lesson learnt.
But then my eyes flicker open. The inside of my mouth tastes like roadkill. I’ve never wanted to pull the duvet back over my head and disappear forever so badly. As I lie there, memories from last night wash over me and I groan. I’m so embarrassed. How could I get stoned AND drunk on my first night? How am I going to face any of those women, or Dania and David, again? I’m going to have to leave.
I sit up, reach for my bag and rifle through it for the plastic envelope with Natalie’s Dutch passport, a throwback from our family’s days in exile, her plane ticket and itinerary. The words ‘non-refundable’ and ‘non-transferable’ swim in front of my eyes.
I could always ask Lucas to loan me the money for a flight home today. I can pay it off even if it takes a couple of years and I have to get a second job, waitressing or something. Only the money Natalie needs plucks at my brain. Across the room, Marilyn’s bed is still unmade, and the clothing tornado looks untouched.
‘Knock knock.’ I recognise David’s voice.
‘Come in,’ I say, dragging myself out of bed, relieved I passed out in tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt. After my humiliation last night, I don’t want to face him half-dressed.
‘Are you both decent?’ he asks, peeking around the door.
‘It’s just me, Marilyn’s not here,’ I say, finding no small irony in him being nervous of seeing us naked.
David’s wearing a pair of chinos and a too-tight blue-and-white-striped T-shirt, with a man-scarf tied around his neck and a black beret on his head. Ever the showman.
‘Hello,’ he says again, his voice soft and sing-songy. ‘Dania sent me to check on you, see how you’re feeling this morning? She wanted to pop in herself, but she’s interviewing Beyoncés.’
‘I’m feeling better, thank you,’ I say. ‘I’m so sorry about last night. I’m terribly embarrassed. I don’t know what happened. It must have been something I ate.’
‘But you’re feeling better now, yes?’ he asks.
‘Much, thank you,’ I say politely, working up the nerve to tell him I’m not sticking around.
‘Dania wants to know if you’re all right to perform tonight.’ He gives me an awkward grin and thumbs-up. ‘We are having you on the flyer already, you see.’
‘Actually …’ I say.
‘Morning biyatches.’ Marilyn saunters past him into the room, cutting me off. She’s wearing the same trademark white halter-neck dress she was wearing last night, except it’s more creased and less crisp than I remember. She’s barefoot, carrying her stilettos in one hand, her toenails deep pink. It’s weird to hear Marilyn Monroe, her voice feminine, bird-like and old-fashioned, sounding cheap and nasty.
‘Marilyn,’ David greets her, his voice cordial.
‘Bonjour, David,’ Marilyn whispers through pouty lips and tweaking his scarf with a put-on giggle. ‘Très French today, oui?’
David flushes a red even his self-tan can’t hide. ‘I’d better go, Dania needs me. See you later?’ he says to me, then lets himself out before I can tell him there’s no way I’m hanging around. I want to call him back but I don’t want to give Marilyn the pleasure of quitting in front of her.
‘Toodles,’ Marilyn shouts. ‘What was that all about?’ she asks, sitting on her unmade bed, rubbing her feet.
‘Just checking in to see if I’m feeling better,’ I say coolly.
Marilyn doesn’t ask me how I’m feeling, but then I wasn’t expecting her to. I watch her movements surreptitiously as I make my bed. She opens her white satin purse and pulls out a wad of cash. She licks a finger, then thumbs through it. Then she opens her bedside table to reveal a built-in safe. She masks the safe door with her body as she punches in her code and opens the door with a satisfyingly thick metal clunk.
I check and find I have a safe too, but mine is wide open, and only contains a dog-eared laminated card, printed with directions for setting a new code.
When she’s finished stashing her cash, Marilyn goes to the closet and for a split second I think she’s going to clear out some stuff to make space for me to unpack, but instead she pulls out a tracksuit, some underwear, a toiletry bag and a towel, and heads for the door. Her casual dismissal infuriates me.
‘Marilyn, do you think you can make some space in the cupboard?’ I say, aware that I don’t know what her real name is.
‘What for?’ she responds.
‘My things.’
‘Why? It’s not like you’re going to be here very long.’
Her comment stings and burns at the same time.
‘What do you mean?’ I say, trying hard to push back the lump that always appears in my throat at any sign of confrontation.
‘Please! We’re taking bets. Everybody agrees that you won’t last a week,’ she says, sashaying out the door.
Everybody? Who’s everybody? Eff her! She’s right of course, but who the hell does she think she is? She makes me want to scream. I rub my face and feel caked mascara around my eyes.
> Morning babes. U there? How are you?
> Hi Lucas. I miss you.
> I miss u too my noo noo. XX U feeling better this morning?
> It’s all very new and overwhelming.
> I’m sorry babes. I was worried it would be too much for u to handle.
> What do you mean?
> It’s just it’s ur first time overseas on your own. Away for long time, Grace. And it was all very last minute, plus it’s a challenging job. I meant what I said last night about coming home. I don’t think anyone would blame u if u wanted to throw in the towel at that school. After all, u have a wedding to plan
> I just … I don’t want to let anyone down. I did say I would do this. I should at least give it a try.
> U don’t have to you know. If ur unhappy and want to come home u must. I wouldn't judge u.
> Thanks. I’m really confused right now. I don’t want to quit, but I don’t know if I can do this.
> Just come home. It sounds like it’s too much for u
> I need to think about it.
> Ok. So what u up to today?
> I have a few hours to explore this morning, then work later.