Carrie ducked her head to look at the ring on her finger, fighting the sick thud in her stomach. She didn’t want to remember that. It was in the past. A different time. A different person. This was now. This was what she wanted.
How the hell did you divorce someone when you had no idea how the hell to get hold of them in the first place?
Carrie pulled her laptop closer. Sitting in the kitchen felt a little precarious, Jade could get bored with her Netflix binge at any moment and appear behind her, but apart from the lounge, it was the only place you got a decent wi-fi signal.
According to the government website, you could have a DIY divorce for very little money, which sounded great until she started doing more digging. Initially she’d hoped she might get away without having to get a solicitor involved. It wasn’t as if she and Richard had anything to fight about. No shared belongings. No children. Not even a marital home. A solicitor wouldn’t be interested. Or maybe they would be if they thought major pound signs might be involved. She’d soon disabuse them of that thought.
Richard wasn’t likely to contest it, surely not after all this time. He was established, a big-time superstar.
Years ago she’d suggested a divorce. Richard said he didn’t want to. Neither did she, but with gritted teeth, she’d pointed out it was the practical, obvious thing to do because they hadn’t seen each other for eighteen months. The rush of relief, when he said he didn’t want to call time either, had only been eclipsed by her heart breaking into tiny pieces when he explained that it might hurt his chances of landing the next role.
Stupid idiot, she’d held that last-chance-saloon prayer that they’d work things out, but even though he’d smashed up all her hopes, having not worked in the theatre for eight months, she knew how precious every opportunity was. Who was she to deny him his big break?
She twisted a curl in her hand as she stared at the laptop screen. A divorce certainly wouldn’t hurt his career now. Getting a divorce was surprisingly straightforward providing you had an address.
She didn’t have a clue where Richard lived. It wasn’t exactly something you could look up on the internet. Google was amazing, but she didn’t think it was quite that amazing. Deciding to give it a go, she typed in Where does Richard Maddox live? What she loved about the great god of search engines, was that it never admitted it didn’t know anything. Wouldn’t it be great if occasionally a message would pop up, Google does not have a clue?
Article after article about Richard Maddox popped up, but not one of them handily said he lived at 3025 Pacific Beach Highway West, Malibu or 95a Beverley Hills Avenue, Hollywood, Ca.
The third from top mentioned that he was about to start filming a new film, Turn on the Stars, a romantic comedy, scheduled to go into production in the summer and to be filmed on the Cote D’Azur in France. Carrie winced. Where else but the Cote D’Azur? Although quite where it was in France, she was a bit hazy. Geography had never been her strong point.
‘Hey Carrie.’ Carrie jumped as Jade sauntered into the kitchen, working hard to resist the urge to slam the laptop closed. ‘You okay? Is there anything to eat? I reckon Mum’s hidden the rest of the chocolate biscuits.’ She crossed to the cupboard, peering into the empty biscuit box with an air of utter disbelief.
‘No, I’m pretty sure you ate them all.’
‘That’s ridiculous, I’ve only had a couple.’ Jade pulled a disconsolate face. ‘You don’t get many in a packet, do you?’
Possibly not when you munched two or three every time you passed the biscuit barrel. Carrie decided it was best not to voice that thought out loud.
‘Your film finished?’
‘No, got bored. It was lame. What you doing? Don’t tell me you’re still working?’ Jade squinted at the screen.
‘No, just surfing.’
‘Did Mum tell you about the holiday?’ Jade threw herself into the chair opposite.
‘No. We haven’t spoken about it.’ On the one hand free accommodation sounded wonderful for a whole summer holiday, but if something sounded too good to be true, it probably was.
‘Looks like it’s a no-go.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘We can’t get there, not without a flaming helicopter. It’s too complicated. No public transport, which means it must be some crappy, middle-of-nowhere place.’
‘How does Marguerite, the woman that owns the place, get there?’ asked Carrie, used to Jade’s dramatics.
‘Chauffeur-driven from the airport.’ Jade wrinkled her nose. ‘Alright for some, eh?’
‘Ah. And there’s no other way?’ Carrie was a great believer in where there was a will there was a way.
‘Feel free to try. I’ve been on the web for hours trying to work it out. Basically we’re stuffed. No cheap holiday on the Côte D’Azure.’ Jade’s downturned mouth almost formed a perfect semi-circle. ‘Mum’s found a,’ she did speech marks actions, “cottage”– polite speak for caravan without wheels, in the Forest of Dean.’
‘Côte D’Azur?’ Carrie straightened.
‘No, Forest of Dean.’ Jade glared at her in that full-frontal, pay-attention manner teenagers were so good at adopting.
‘No before that. Marguerite’s place. I thought it was somewhere on the French Riviera.’
‘Yeah, that too. Same place, two names. Why? Just ridiculous. Although makes no difference cos I’m never going to find out what it’s like.’ Jade slid lower down in her chair. ‘Would you bloody Adam and Eve it? First time in a gazillion, trillion years that there’s a chance of me actually going abroad. i.e. needing my passport. And it’s snatched away from me in the nick of bloody time.’
As Jade had been talking, Carrie had done another quick search.
‘Apparently, Riviera is the Anglicised version of Côte D’Azur.’
‘For all I care, it could be the Welsh, Scottish or Irish version. It’s no good to me.’
‘How many does this villa of the famous Marguerite sleep?’ asked Carrie, narrowing her eyes, a prick of excitement stirring.
‘Doesn’t matter as the Hayes family will NOT be going.’ Jade slid down her chair, arms folded, glaring across the table. ‘My life officially sucks. Charlotte is going to the Hamptons. Becky is going to Paris. Eliza is going to Canada. I, on the other, rubbish, hand am going to a pathetic caravan park, without Wi-Fi, in the middle of nowheresville.’
‘Could be worse.’
‘How so?’ Jade slouched even further down, her chin now level with the table.
‘It might rain every day.’ Carrie smiled, getting up and walking behind Jade to flip on the kettle behind her.
‘That’s mean. Thanks a bunch for that cheery thought.’ Jade, now loose-limbed and droopy, looked in danger of melting across the table.
‘Always good to share.’ Carrie pulled a couple of mugs out of the cupboard, holding one up to Jade in offer of a hot drink. ‘But, if you could get to Marguerite’s, how many bedrooms does it have?’
‘Oh God, you’re not going to bring Al are you? He’ll spend the whole time encouraging me to read.’ With a sudden start, Jade straightened, realising that perhaps there was renewed hope. ‘Not that