While I Was Shopping: Part 21

Chelsea picked her toast up and looked at it half-heartedly. She’d been bored out of her mind for the last half hour listening to Annabel and Michael witter on about bog all and she felt like vomiting at the noises they were making together.

They’d been together a week now and had come out in front of everyone after the first night when the show had been packed out and had received rave reviews, holding hands and giggling like children. Chelsea didn’t think when she and Michael had been a couple they had ever behaved in such a way. With a jolt she realised that she and Michael had never had a chance to behave like it, and all of their behaviour had been confined to either his home or hers.

She glanced at them now, kissing each other, her with her eyes closed and his eyes slightly open, watching her face. Chelsea couldn’t help wondering if he ever opened his eyes when he kissed her, and remembered with a smile what that had felt like.
“What are you grinning at?” Terry asked as he sat beside her, throwing a pile of papers in front of Michael and Annabel, and pouring himself a cup of tea.
“Just remembering a programme I saw on young couples being slaughtered.” She said with a wry smile and a bite of her toast.

Annabel smiled pertly. “I suppose it must be hard for you, being so far away from your husband and everything.” She looked at Michael, who was watching his tea carefully, and touched his arm. “No wonder you’re jealous.”

Terry spluttered his tea and shot Chelsea and Michael a glance. Neither of them moved, and Michael seemed intent on his tea whirling around in his cup.

Chelsea swallowed hard and smiled her most winning smile at Annabel. “I’m certainly not jealous.” She said, as she began spreading some more jam on her toast. “I don’t need a man to live my life.” She said pointedly and Annabel picked up her coffee cup and shot her a glance.

Chelsea continued cutting her toast and didn’t look up, pretending not to care or realise she was being watched. It was only when she caught the sight of Annabel’s hand grabbing a newspaper that she dared look up from her plate, and thankfully the paper was obscuring Annabel’s entire person.

She cast a wry glance at Terry who, after looking up from his own paper, began perusing the World News section with great intent.

A flash out of the corner of her eye brought her head round again and she saw Michael looking at her oddly. She stared back at him, wondering what he was thinking, why he was watching her with such a strange expression on his face, and blushing because she was staring right back at him.

He glanced down at his cup and then back up at her, and she stirred milk into her tea, and took a bite out of her toast, and looked out of the breakfast room window out into the garden.

Finally the others began arriving and suddenly the silence was ruined, but she was grateful for the excuse to leave, and as she wandered out of the restaurant she smiled as the guys began the usual morning banter.

Making her way out onto the terrace of the hotel she breathed in the warm morning air and smiled. She wanted so much to travel and explore America. It intrigued her about it’s history, about all of the different states, about the people and the sights.

>Chelsea sat down on one of the deck chairs and closed her eyes, feeling the warmth on her skin and smiling. She could lie like this forever, just soaking up the sun and bathing in it’s warmth.

There was a noise beside her, but she didn’t open her eyes until a shadow loomed over her and cut out the sun’s light.

“I’m sorry about Annabel.” Said a familiar voice, and as goose bumps began rising on Chelsea’s arms, she opened her eyes and looked up at the figure above her.

“Don’t apologise for her, she wasn’t to know.” Chelsea said and looked away from his face, afraid she might betray something to him.

Michael sat down on the chair next to her, his cologne wafting into her nostrils. “Still, she needn’t have been so rude.”

Chelsea continued to look away and a silence fell on them. How was it that neither of them knew what to say to the other anymore? How could it be that, for all of the time they had spent together, they couldn’t talk anymore?

“Anyway…” he began and then coughed gently. “I…how…I mean…we haven’t properly spoken in so long.” He undid the top button on his shirt and rolled up his sleeves. “I don’t know how to talk to you anymore Chelsea.” He said and looked right at her.

“That’s understandable don’t you think?” Chelsea said softly and he leant back in his chair. “Things didn’t exactly end as either of us had planned, and…a lot has happened since then.”

He nodded, his brown, wavy hair bobbing slightly. “We used to be such great friends, even when we were together. It seems such a shame to let that all pass by.” He said.

“Do you want to be my friend?” she asked, slightly awe struck.

He smiled at her, the old, familiar smile that crept under her skin and made her mad for him. “I’ve always wanted to be your friend.” He said and reached out to hug her.

Chelsea almost fell into his arms and rested her head on his shoulder in the familiar way. It had always startled her the way they seemed to fit so nicely together, and as he held her now she drank in the surroundings, the sun on them, filling them with warmth, his cologne, his heart under his shirt, beating clear in the morning light. Chelsea wanted to ingrain this image on her mind forever, because it was such a perfect moment.

When he stepped back he looked awkward, and Chelsea instantly wondered what was wrong, had she spoken aloud and told him things she didn’t mean to? He wouldn’t look at her, and she touched his arm gently.

“What’s wrong Michael?” she asked, worriedly.

He turned his head away from her and she followed him, before touching his face with her hand. Michael looked down at her and smiled gently, his lip quivering, and his eyes moist.

“Whatever is the matter?” she asked, brushing away a tear that had made it’s way down his tanned cheek.

“I…I…” he began in an unsteady voice, and Chelsea held her breath, hoping he would say the words she had longed to hear him say for the last two years.

“I…I’m happy we’ve finally sorted this all out.” He said finally, and Chelsea couldn’t help but feel disappointed, but she hid it well, and kissed his cheek.

“Just as I am.” She said, before he turned from her and headed back indoors, and left her feeling cold in the sun.
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Michael wiped his face with the back of his hand quickly as he entered the hotel from the sun deck. Why hadn’t he told her he loved her? Why had he walked away from her as she kissed his cheek? Why hadn’t he taken her in his arms and told her how his world would never be complete without her?

He knew why, despite all of the things he was saying to himself. He knew that she was married, he was seeing someone, and as much as he liked Annabel, or as much as he loved Chelsea, neither of them deserved to be hurt. By telling Chelsea his heart, he would hurt them both. And how can you go back to a life in the past when you know that there is no going back to the way it was?

He felt angry at himself, but there were so many obstacles in his way. He pushed open the door to his bedroom, and locked it, before heading into the bathroom for a cold shower.

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Eric lay back on the sofa and watched as Chelsea fiddled with the end of a cushion, her face moving from upset, to angry, to happy, to relaxed and back again. She had been on edge ever since the previous morning, and, judging from what Terry had said had happened at the breakfast, she had every right to be.

What he couldn’t understand was why she didn’t just come out and tell Michael she loved him still, just as he did her?

Graham had been more than forthcoming at the bar the previous night, and Eric had gradually pieced together the details of what had happened at the nightclub, which was incidentally the night that Chelsea had tried to sleep with him.

He had suspected something, but, as always, Eric’s mind was controlled by what his package did, and if something excited him, then no amount of thought was going to push that aside.

As he watched her now he smiled gently to himself. Chelsea was the only woman he had ever loved. He had loved her from the moment she had granted them money from Finance when she wasn’t supposed to, and he had never really stopped. But his was the kind of love that wouldn’t turn her head as Michael’s had, and it was obvious when they were together that there was still something there between them. They had been rehearsing the show, and when Michael had come on stage for the argument sketch and approached her, he had smiled at her, into her eyes, as he had touched her breast, which was supposed to be a buzzer.

Her face had deepened red, but she had smiled up at him, and there was something there, a connection that no one could see unless they were looking. Everyone watching thought it was comedy effect, but Eric had seen Michael’s finger rest too long on her as she spoke to him, and the eye contact they maintained between each other was magnificent.

But things changed when Annabel was near, and suddenly the two people standing almost on top of each other after rehearsals, thinking that no one was watching them, jumped a mile apart when Annabel arrived and placed herself neatly on Michael’s arm, with more than a sarcastic smile at Chelsea.

Eric sighed and knew that he would have to take things into his own hands, despite his promise to Chelsea that he wouldn’t breathe a word of anything to anyone. Someone had to do something, and he knew that he was the one to do it.

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Chelsea watched as the stage hands began moving the objects on the stage and smiled as John waved to her from the opposite end of the stage, looking genuinely happy and overjoyed.

America had been good fun for them all, and she couldn’t believe that there was only one more performance to go before it was all over, and they could all go back to England again. Not that she thought many of them would, particularly not Eric or Gilliam, who, in the past two weeks, had started meeting up with American producers, directors and writers, each of them planning their own adventures once the Python experience had ended.

Eric had already begun looking at apartments in the area, and had taken Chelsea to see three of the largest ones. They were bigger than her old house with Ed, and she had grinned as Eric had danced her around the empty rooms, singing loudly so she could hear the echo of it all. He was very musical and the home he was planning had to be perfect for his acoustics.

Gilliam meanwhile had already bought an apartment, and was planning a big film which he was being very secretive about, despite the constant prodding of John and Terry J. John already owned an apartment, but it was miles away, and he couldn’t be bothered with the travel.

Annabel was planning a bash in the Gardens of Paradise, the club they had visited before, and she had booked the restaurant area for their own use. It seemed a good plan to most, but Chelsea remembered when she had last been there, and she had grimaced at the thought. But still, tomorrow night was a long way away, and their final performance tomorrow afternoon was all she wanted to focus on right now.

As they all came on stage Chelsea found her stomach flipping as Michael took her hand in his and pulled her forward on stage and took a bow. She smiled as he squeezed her hand and looked at her, before they all bowed again, the audience screaming and shouting and clapping, and the Liberty Bell tinkling in the background.

At last they began to make their way back into the wings, and Chelsea realised with a start that they were still holding hands as they made their way back through the wings and towards the dressing rooms.

“That was possibly the best audience yet.” Michael said as they walked together. Chelsea looked up at him and smiled gently. He frowned and then looked down at their hands together, and he almost leapt out of his skin, removing his hand from hers in the same action. He smiled sheepishly and then scuttled off to his dressing room as Eric grabbed her sides from behind and cackled in her ear.

“Nice little mountain herder outfit you’ve got there.” He said in an old American accent and Chelsea laughed.

“Ok, Mr Lumberjack, you can talk!”

He took her hand and placed it on his arm as they walked towards their dressing rooms.

“Final night tomorrow.” He said and she smiled ruefully.

“I don’t want this to ever end.” She said sadly. “I’ve loved being back with all of you. It’s strange how much you miss Python until you’re living it and breathing it all over again!”

Eric shut the door to his dressing room and pulled off the checked shirt he was wearing, and threw his hat onto the chair next to the mirror.

“I sometimes wonder why John quit the show all those years ago. If we’d have kept on going, we would all still be together now.” Eric said as he took off his shoes and threw them in the corner next to his other costumes.

“John got bored.” Chelsea said and leant back on the sofa, stretching her arms and legs out. “And if you’d have all carried on for much longer you’d all be dead now, or not speaking to one another. You know what it was like towards the end, and John probably saved you all from writing the same things over and over.”

Eric grimaced. “A lot of the stuff I wanted to do never got in so it would have made room for something different.”

Chelsea shrugged. “Well what’s done is done now. All you need to do is consider what you’re going to do next.”

“I don’t know what to do next. I’ve been getting a lot of offers, but nothing’s concrete yet.” He said as he began rubbing his face with some makeup remover. He cast her a glance out of the corner of one eye and placed a hand on his hip.

“What do you plan on doing?” he asked.

Chelsea sat still on the sofa and thought. She hadn’t really considered the possibilities, but she knew that she wasn’t near as famous as all of the other Pythons’ and, despite often being called the seventh Python, she was doomed to stand in the shadow of all of the genius friends she had. Not that she minded all of that. There were some fans, but none of them were as obsessive as those that followed the movements of the guys.

“I suppose I’ll go back to the West End and keep doing shows.” She said. “Maybe even retire gracefully while I’m ahead.” She said with a grin.

Eric screwed up his nose, getting makeup remover all over his white shirt. “Don’t be silly, plenty of life in the old girl yet.” He said and she threw a cushion at his leg.

“Well anyway,” he continued, “you’re always welcome to be in anything I do.”

She smiled and shook her head. “No thanks Eric, I don’t want your sort of exploitative work.”

This time the cushion hit her on the leg. “Go on, get out of here,” he said playfully, “I can’t take you back to the hotel looking like that can I?”

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Michael looked up at his clock and grimaced. Another late night with the lads was beginning to take its toll, so much so that he hadn’t been in the mood to stay with Annabel for the last few nights. She had minded, quite considerably, but placed all of his reluctance to make love down to the stress of producing and performing in a live stage format, and had, more than once, suggested he would get back to normal on the night of the final performance.

Rolling out of bed he cursed himself for agreeing to play squash with Eric this early in the morning, but Eric had insisted that they should get there early to beat the crowds that began arriving for early morning exercise at nine or tennish. That’s why he was throwing himself under a cold shower at eight in the morning.

Michael slipped on a pair of white shorts and his white tennis shirt and laced his shoes, before heading down to the breakfast area to grab a quick cup of coffee before the match would begin. Eric could get very competitive when it came to racket sports, and Michael wanted to have his wits about him as the battle commenced.

As the clock struck nine, Michael sighed and glanced around the almost deserted breakfast room. He was sure that Eric had agreed to meet him at eight thirty right here. Knowing Eric he was still in bed, sleeping off whatever booze or whoever’s energy he had consumed last night.

Pushing his chair back, Michael headed towards the lift. He might as well head on up to his room to make sure the match was still on, or that his partner was up and about at the very least.

The lift opened and Michael stepped into the quiet corridor, and headed towards Eric’s room.

Knocking softly he thought he heard a thump, and wondered if maybe Eric had just got up. Without even thinking he tried the handle of the door, and was bemused to find the room open. It would just be like Eric to come in drunk and leave the room open for them to be burgled during the night.

Pushing the door open as quietly as he could, Michael stepped into the suite, and made his way forward into the room. He took in the drawn curtains, the night light which had been left on, that was casting shadows over a sleeping figure.

Chelsea’s dark head was resting, fast asleep, on her pillow, a hand tucked under her cheek, and her nightdress strap slipping down over her shoulder. She looked almost angelic as Michael looked at her, and ran his eyes down over her sleeping figure. The quilt was tucked under her arm and she was breathing softly, her dark hair pushed back from her face and down her back.

Michael tore his eyes from her to the camp bed which was folded in the corner of the room. He stepped further into the room when he heard movement, and whirled around to see Eric’s dishevelled head appear from under the duvet next to Chelsea.

“Michael…” Eric said in a croaky voice. “What are you doing here man?”

Michael couldn’t speak. He was shocked to the core at what he was witnessing. How could Eric sleep with Chelsea? He was supposed to be his friend, and she…she was supposed to…well she was married at any rate.

“Michael?” Eric asked steadily, not at all ashamed or guilty, and Michael felt himself begin to feel very ill.

“Eric who are you talking to?” asked a voice and Chelsea pulled herself up in bed, rubbing her eyes and squinting at the figure stood in front of the night light.

“Michael.” He said matter of factly.

“Michael?” she said with rather too much shock coming through her voice.

“Yes Michael.” Michael said darkly, and before any of them could say anything he stormed from the room, slamming the door on his way out.

“What the hell just happened?” Eric asked innocently and Chelsea began to hyperventilate.

“He thinks we slept together,” she said, panic rising in her voice. “He thinks because you’re in bed with me we slept together.”

She leapt from the bed, still in her nightdress, and rushed out of the hotel room, and into the corridor, leaving Eric to sit back in bed, a look of satisfaction on his face. There was nothing like a good set up to get two people in love together.

Chelsea flew down the corridor and caught the lift just as it was leaving.

“Michael…” she said out of breath.

His face was stony and his eyes cold, and when she leant on the door of the lift, he pressed the button for down and looked away from her.

“Michael. Nothing has happened between Eric and I.” she said firmly. “He just sleeps in the bed because the camp bed isn’t comfortable.”

Still he said nothing, and Chelsea felt the lift door slam into her back again. “Won’t you say something?” she asked, her voice wobbling.
“I won’t tell Ed.” He said, and pushed her slowly out of the lift, before letting the doors close in front of him