The Contingency Plan

Bexley

“Bex? If you had to choose between giving up alcohol for a year or sex for a month, what would you pick?” my childhood bestie, Caroline (Caz for short), slurred her words.

All I could smell was alcohol and stale perfume. My bra was saturated with wine because I missed my mouth twice, now it felt sticky and gross. The best thing about wearing a dress made from sequins was that it could hide all the drink spillages. It was a glitzy practicality that I learned through trial and error.

Caz's dark-brown fringe had stuck to her clammy forehead. Beads of moisture dotted across her upper lip like a sweaty moustache. It was three o'clock on a Sunday morning and people were staggering out of all the bars like extras from a zombie film. Caz and I were exhausted from dancing for two hours straight, drunk on shots and vodka cokes. So drunk that we collapsed into the back of a taxi in a tangle of limbs.

Ugh! It was Sunday already!

I would have to sleep off my hangover before meeting my dad. We had a dinner reservation tonight. He had an important announcement to make, and the fact that he had chosen somewhere public to deliver the news, meant that I was nervous about what he was likely to say. I could hardly make a scene in a crowded restaurant, could I? As much as I was a straight-talking woman, I would never cause a scene, and Dad knew that. I was head-strong, just like he was. We either got along fine or we would clash like a thunderstorm. It had always been the same since I was a little girl. I trusted my father, I really did. But Dad had been secretive about whom he had been sneaking off to meet with, and that bothered me. All he kept telling me was that this person was an old friend and that I shouldn't worry because I had met him lots of times. So basically, he could be anybody. I had met all of Dad's friends at some point in my life. He always liked to show me off as his proudest achievement, which was cute ... I suppose. But there was only so much hair-ruffling and cheek pinching that a grown woman can take.

Dad's friends were all cut from the same cloth as him. My father is an ex-serviceman, built like The Rock, and inked from the neck down. People at school used to joke that he left the navy to become a professional hitman. As far as I know, that wasn’t true. He set up a home security company that specialized in burglar alarms, window sensors, and multi-point locking systems. He made his money, and that's how we could progress to more advanced technology, such as CCTV systems. Now we are one of two leading providers of state-of-the-art home surveillance. There’s not a household to date that doesn’t use at least one of our products, but in the dog-eat-dog world of business, we were battling to maintain the spotlight. Our competitors had been biting at our heels every step of the way, and the competition was getting tougher each year. We needed to think of an idea to expand in a style that our rivals couldn’t. I had a few ideas in the pipeline, but I had yet to pitch them to Dad.

I wondered who this old friend was, and why his idea had Dad so excited. Last night, when I asked about it, he replied it was about time that he and "this friend" discussed their plans for a merger. Nothing had been decided yet, but it would combine his friend’s personal security company with our surveillance software. Dad was so vague with the details that my mind was whirling with a plethora of possibilities. Did this guy hire professional bodyguards to protect the rich and famous, or was he part of MI5 or something? The suspense was killing me. Dad arranged for us to meet at the Grosvenor at five o'clock in the afternoon because he would never dine past seven. He claimed that eating late gave him indigestion. The Grosvenor was one of the city’s finest places to dine, so at least I knew that the food would be good. That was always a bonus. I tended to binge eat after a night out. Especially after an uneventful one. Most of my friends pulled a no-show and put it down to having childcare issues.

My friends had all settled down and had spawned young, leaving me way behind on the starting line. Now our group had whittled down to just Caz and me; the two of us slapping on the war paint, glamming it up on a Saturday night like a pair of sad spinsters. The truth was: I wanted what my friends had, despite telling everyone that I was happy and that I didn’t need a man to complete me.

Lies!

It was the lies I told myself to conceal the loneliness of a cold bed and a microwave meal for one. Maintaining relationships had always been difficult for me because I grew bored with them. I was the walking cliché of ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ because it really was me. They did nothing wrong. It’s just that I’m constantly looking for the next best thing and cannot appreciate what I already have. Maybe that was a sign that I hadn’t met the right man yet, who knows? All that I know is that I am married to my job. The company comes first above all else. That was my father’s 'other baby', the older brother that had given us the life that we’d grown accustomed to. I had it good ... I honestly did. But sometimes, it would be nice to share that with someone interesting enough to maintain my interest, if you know what I mean.

I rolled my head to the side so I could answer Caroline’s question. Not that I had to think about it, because I knew the answer straight off.

“I’d rather give up sex,” I replied, earning a shocked splutter from the cab driver.

He expected me to say that I would renounce alcohol. That just goes to show that his job isn’t as stressful as mine. As the future CEO of Barker Security, I had to meet certain criteria before my father would hand over the reins to me. I had been shaped and moulded for this since the day that I was born.

No pressure or anything.

A glass of wine now and then always helped me to relax a little. A full-bodied Malbec was always there for me when no one else was. Caz scrunched her face with an incredulous grimace.

“Seriously? No sex for a month?” she returned, sounding gobsmacked.

I don’t know why because she knew damn well that I hadn’t got any 'D' for a long while.

“It’s not like I’m tripping over sexy guys everywhere I go,” I retorted, side-eyeing the snickering driver through venomous slits.

As a natural redhead, I was known for my fiery temper. He wasn't to know that because I dyed my hair brown. “Hey,” I berated him. “If I were you, I would concentrate on the road or you’ll miss our turning.”

The back roads from Chester were scarcely lit. You had to slow right down to a crawl or else you would cruise straight past my driveway. The houses along this road were all detached six-bedroomed dwellings with swimming pools and huge landscaped gardens. Which was funny because in all the years I had lived here, I had never once taken a swim. My favourite haunt was the hot tub beneath the veranda on the patio.

“You ought to employ someone to hack away that bush,” Caz commented as we approached the entrance to the property.

Sarcasm was the lowest form of wit, but not in this instance. The trees that loomed across my half-mile drive had practically merged, forming a gloomy tunnel all the way to the house. The bushes covered the intercom, so even the postman had trouble locating my whereabouts. It was just how I preferred it, hidden from view and secluded in my own little bubble. I had been this way ever since my mother’s passing. It still hurt to think about her, especially on the anniversary of her death. Which was today — I mean yesterday. It was the reason for my current drunken state.

The taxi came to a halt, and I shoved a tenner through the gap in the divider.

“You take care now,” the cheeky cabbie muttered, “and make sure you trim that bush.”

Caz spluttered with laughter as she scrambled out of the taxi. I sifted through the leaves as if I was on a jungle expedition, found the keypad and punched in the four-digit code.

The metal gates rolled to the side, but we didn’t wait for them to open all the way before we began staggering across the gravel like sailors on a swaying vessel.

After we practically fell through the front door, kicking off our killer heels, we tossed our clutch bags on the side table and crawled upstairs to bed. Caz was living here since her ex-boyfriend had cheated on her and threw her out of their house. Her parents lived abroad, so she had nowhere else to go.

The sound of my phone vibrating beneath my pillow woke me up with a jolt. My mascara had left a lasting impression across my white pillowcase, reminding me I had fallen asleep without taking it off. I rolled onto my back as I answered the call. Bleurgh! My stomach bubbled with nausea.

“Hello?” I greeted with a sleep-drunken slur.

“Bexley Barker!” Dad’s sharp tone shook me awake.

“Dad, what’s the matter?” I winced, clutching my forehead.

My bedroom was still dancing in front of my eyes and my temples impersonated a slow clap. I mashed my lips together to resurrect my withered tongue, but it was no use, I needed water and a miracle. The sun pooled in through the vertical blinds, filtering a hazy yellow hue onto the whitewashed walls. My room was like my life, orderly, and devoid of any colour. It might seem drab to some, but at least nothing could clash.

“You better be getting ready for dinner?” he spoke in a warning growl.

I squinted to tell the time on my alarm clock. It was just past three in the afternoon. I had to blink to clear the blur from my eyes.

Did I just read the time right?

The digital display altered another minute, mocking me for being a lazy, hungover, sloth.

No! How on earth have I slept in so long?

“Yes,” I lied, scrambling out of bed and catching my foot in the duvet.

My knee hit the laminate floor with a thump.

"Ow,” I whined.

Dad’s heavy sigh rattled down the line, not believing me for a second.

“Oh, and Bexley ... dress respectably,” he added before ending the call.

I would’ve taken offence to that remark, but I was feeling a little worse for wear. The train-wreck staring back at me in the mirror only proved Dad right. I needed all the help I could get: a fairy godmother, Gok Wan, and a pint full of Alka-Seltzer. If I wanted to be taken seriously, I had to radiate professionalism. Dad would never hand over the keys to his car to someone who didn't hold a valid driving licence, so I needed to convince him I was more than capable of running the company.