‘I can’t believe we’re doing this,’ I said, hobbling slightly in my high heels.
‘I look ridiculous.’
‘You look hot,’ Emelie replied. ‘Now just be quiet. Chin up, tits out and
follow me. Let me show you how we do this.’
Following her public pukeathon, Emelie had spent two hours in my
bathroom and emerged looking as if she’d had a full night’s sleep. It really
was disgusting. Her hair was glossy and curled, her skin soft and scented
and, once I’d been at her with my make-up kit, she looked like a goddess.
I’d tried my best. My red hair was shiny and smooth, I’d gone all out with
my make-up in that I was actually wearing some, and I’d added my new
black platform heels to make me feel more ladylike. Somehow, it was sort
of working. I had to admit, we looked good.
‘Bonsoir.’ She batted her eyelashes and laid the accent on thick for a
group of very well-dressed smokers outside The Savoy. ‘Light?’
All three men began patting themselves down feverishly, staring at
Emelie’s skintight red dress. Eventually one held up a lighter, triumphantly
shoving the other two out of the way.
‘It’s crazy inside, right?’ She placed the cigarette between her lips and
nodded for him to light it. The flame lit up her perfect make-up and he was
done. Completely smitten. ‘We had to step outside for a break. It was just
getting so … sweaty.’
I didn’t know where to look. She was shameless. But so, so effective. It
was some sort of charity do, an auction of original artworks to raise money
for, well, something depressing. Em had donated an original Kitty Kitty
sketch. Not being eleven, I sometimes forgot about Kitty Kitty. To me it
was that cat cartoon she used to do when she should have been studying, the
one Matthew would inevitably redraw to make it obscene. To the tweens of
Great Britain, the Netherlands, Brazil and Germany, it was the highest
grossing non-media brand for girls under fourteen. Quite impressive really.
And happily for me, that income kept her in designer outfits for me to
borrow at times like this. Declaring the event a mission, she had pulled the
two tightest dresses from her wardrobe and declared the evening on. We
were going to find me a date to my dad’s wedding if it killed us. It was a
charity do, after all: surely some well-meaning man with too much time and
money would take pity on me?
‘I don’t think being outside has helped me at all,’ Em announced to the
assembled gents. ‘Perhaps you would like to get me and my friend a drink?’
She ground her unsmoked cigarette into the ground and smiled brightly.
Partly because she didn’t smoke and partly because, as she’d explained on
the way, this was all part of her plan to teach me the art of flirting. Her role
was to chat up likely suspects. Mine was to shut up, look pretty, and do as I
was told. I believe it was Meatloaf who had said two out of three ain’t bad
… The dress she had chosen for me was genuinely beautiful. I’d actually
gasped when she held it out. Narrow black straps at my shoulders cut into a
super low V neck that on Emelie must have been indecent. Given my
comparative lack of charms, I had convinced myself I made it look elegant.
At least, judicious use of double-sided sticky tape meant that I wasn’t going
to make it look pornographic. The tightly fitted top half billowed into layers
of ruffles that I could just about manage not to trip over if in the platforms.
Of course, they provided their own problems. I was not going to be able to
drink. Or I was going to have to drink a lot, I wasn’t sure which. I’d gone
for neutral lipstick and my most carefully applied winged liquid eyeliner –
maximum drama, minimal touch-ups. Definitely elegant.
Em, on the other hand, did not look elegant. She looked stunning. Her red
strapless gown clung to her curves like it had been made for her and the
skirt fell all the way to the floor in a cascade of delicate pleats. Every time
she moved, it moved with her, a deep slash in the front of the skirt revealing
yards of leg right up to her thigh. A slash of MAC Russian Red lipstick lit
up her entire face and she’d somehow managed to tame her curls into
Veronica Lake-style waves. It was ridiculous. If it hadn’t been woefully
inadequate, I’d have said she looked like Julia Roberts going to the opera in
Pretty Woman, except she was twice as beautiful and somehow managed to
give the impression that she’d be better in bed than a pro. It was quite
impressive.
The owner of the winning lighter held his arm out to Emelie. ‘Let me get
you that drink,’ he beamed like a lottery winner. His friends accepted
defeat, looked at each other for a moment before one of them held his arm
out to me.
‘Charmed,’ I muttered, taking him up on his offer. Whether he liked it or
not.
Within five minutes of sailing through the doors of the hotel ballroom,
Emelie and I had lost our escorts and were merrily quaffing champagne at
the free bar.
‘This is amazing,’ I said, staring around with wide eyes. ‘How do you not
come to these things every night?’
‘They’re usually really boring.’ She accepted a questionable-looking
canapé from a very handsome waiter. ‘But we should do this more often,
girls’ night out. You’re not that likely to meet the love of your life in a dark
room in Vauxhall.’
‘Don’t,’ I shuddered. First and last time I ever went to Fire Nightclub
with Matthew. Do not, I repeat, do not open the wrong door in that place.
Terrifying.
‘I can’t remember the last time we did a girls only night.’ Em sipped
from her champagne flute delicately. I tried not to chug. As much fun as
this was, I still felt wildly out of place. The easiest cure for that, of course,
was booze. I was pretty sure Shakespeare said something similar. Probably
used more words though.
‘The last time we were out properly on a Saturday night was last
Christmas.’ She smoothed down a stray strand of my hair and smiled. ‘At
that thing with Matthew and Stephen.’
‘How is that even possible?’ I returned the favour and brushed a touch of
loose eye shadow from underneath her eye. I was a perfectionist. ‘That’s
months ago. And we’ve totally been to The Phoenix since then. Loads of
times.’
‘Two hours in the basement of a pub once a month is not the same as
“out”,’ she explained. ‘I’m not complaining, I know when you’re with
someone you don’t want to be trekking around London in high heels when
you could be at home watching The Inbetweeners with your boyfriend but,
from an entirely selfish perspective, I’m really happy you’re here now. I’ve
missed you.’
I didn’t really like the picture Em was painting. Maybe I had abandoned
her a little bit over the last few months. In days gone by, even when Simon
and I first got together, we would be out round town more often than not
but, once we’d bought the flat, I’d started to hibernate a little. Having her as
a constant presence for the last few days had felt so natural. I’d totally taken
our friendship for granted.
‘I’ve been so pathetic,’ I moaned. ‘Honestly, I don’t deserve you to be
this awesome. I’m so sorry.’
‘Shut up,’ she pulled me into a hug and brushed away my apologies. ‘I’m
always here for you whenever you need me. And yeah, so we haven’t seen
each other as much as we used to, but that’s what happens. You were
always there for me when I needed you. That’s what matters.’
‘I’ve missed you too,’ I said with an awkward half-hug. ‘Time just got
away from me. Now everything’s changed, I feel a bit like I’ve been
sleepwalking the last couple of years. If I’d opened my eyes to the situation
sooner, maybe I wouldn’t be here now.’
‘Hindsight is a fine thing.’ Emelie nodded towards two tuxedo-clad guys
at the bar. ‘As is that. Blond or brunette, which do you want?’
I considered the options. They were both attractive; the blond guy was
chiselled, clean cut, tall. The darker-haired guy looked more like the
Geography teacher everyone has a crush on in Year Eight.
‘Brunette.’ My mouth felt dry. My armpits felt sweaty. Perfect pick-up
combo. ‘Remind me again what this is? In case it comes up?’
‘Charity thing; they’re always charity things,’ she hiccupped as she
finished one glass of champagne and readily accepted a second. I really
wanted to tell her to calm down; there was no way she was chucking up on
the night bus looking like that. ‘I want to say children’s charity.’
‘You are a great philanthropist.’ I couldn’t help but stare at all the
attractive men around us. Granted, they were in tuxedos and everyone alive
looked hotter in a tuxedo. It was just a stone-cold fact. Just as the man
coming up to us was a stone-cold fox. The blond.
‘Ladies.’ He nodded to us both but I knew before he even started which
of us he had come to talk to. I wasn’t even offended. At this point, I was
very close to adding ‘go gay with Emelie’ to the to-do list. ‘Would you like
to dance?’
Ever the good friend, Emelie looked to me for approval before accepting
his arm and venturing towards the dance floor. I waited for the Geography
teacher to make his move, but instead he held position a few feet away,
staring somewhere off to the left of my ear. Oh god, what did I have to lose?
‘Hi,’ I held my hand out and prayed he would take it. After an incredibly
uncomfortable couple of seconds, he did. ‘I’m Rachel.’
‘Asher.’ He didn’t quite smile but he didn’t turn and run either. ‘I’m
sorry, I just really hate these things. Tim dragged me along; his wife is
pregnant and she’s not feeling well and he didn’t want to come on his own
and I hate wearing a suit and it’s been a really long day and … Well. Hmm.
Quite.’
Because it wouldn’t be enough for one of us to be socially awkward,
would it? Nothing like a bit of verbal diarrhoea to get things off to a good
start.
‘What do you do?’ I asked, watching married father-to-be Tim whisk my
friend around the dance floor. Funny how he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring
while he danced with the prettiest girl in the room.
‘I’m a yoga instructor.’ He sounded much more comfortable in familiar
territory. ‘Tuxes aren’t my usual uniform.’
‘Suppose not,’ I gave him a supportive smile and tried not to imagine
him in a downward dog. Champagne wasn’t good for me. ‘Where do you
teach?’
‘Oh, all over London.’ He picked up a glass of champagne from the bar
and knocked half of it back in one. Good boy. ‘Do you practise?’
‘I dabble.’ I’d been to one class, refused to accept that bending could be
difficult and immediately put my back out. ‘I’m more of a runner.’
I’d tell him that was a lie after he proposed.
‘You should come to one of my classes.’ He coloured up a little bit
underneath his heavy glasses. I liked it. ‘One class and I promise I’ll
convert you.’
My brain told me to laugh girlishly and accept. Instead I made a sort of
snorting noise, blushed from head to toe and sank an entire glass of
champagne.
‘Could you excuse me for a moment?’ Asher backed away slowly. ‘Back
in a minute.’
Of course you will be. I watched him all but run towards the exit. Of
course you will be.
I managed almost an entire minute before I began to feel conspicuously
alone on the edge of the dance floor. Rubbing my bare arms, I accepted a
refill on my champagne and decided to take a turn around the room. My
experience of balls was limited to the dances attended by Meg and Jo in
Little Women and Jane Austen adaptations. They were always taking turns
around the room. Not that this event could really compare; for starters there
wasn’t a bustle in sight and I couldn’t see a Judi Dench anywhere.
Following a sign for ‘silent auction’, I headed down a darkened hallway,
my heels sinking into extraordinarily plush carpet. Since I’d already sank
three free glasses of champagne and blagged a free ticket from one of the
patrons, maybe I felt obliged to donate something somehow. Didn’t seem
like it would be the kind of event where I could chuck a tenner in a bucket
at the end of the night, and I was almost certain no one was walking around
selling raffle tickets.
The auction room was almost empty; just a few partygoers wandered
around looking at the paintings and photographs on display, occasionally
pausing to write on slips of paper and pop them into envelopes beside each
work. I stopped in front of a black and white photograph. It was beautiful.
A wide desert sky, clouded over, with someone kneeling in the lower lefthand
corner, her face in the shadows. It was one of those moments where
someone is caught completely off guard and isn’t trying to be anyone. It felt
raw and honest and just very special. And according to the guide price, the
charity was expecting to get five thousand pounds for it. No wonder it was a
silent auction, I thought. That direction was presumably to stop me shouting
‘bloody hell, how much?’ out loud.
‘You like it?’
I was so busy trying not to look shocked at the price of the photograph, I
didn’t see him coming. And even if I had, there was no guarantee I would
have recognized Dan in a tux in the first place. Wow. Never having seen
him in anything other than jeans and T-shirts, the transformation was
startling. The intense black fabric of his tux contrasted with the sharp white
shirt, making his light tan glow, and the perfectly fitted formality of his
outfit clashed against his slightly too long brown curly hair. He really was
not a bad-looking man. Tall, broad, gorgeous dark brown eyes …
‘I love it.’ If anything was going to tear my attention off that picture, it
was going to be him. Something winged and fluttery was happening in my
stomach. But this was Dan, couldn’t possibly be butterflies, more likely
killer moths. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘And good evening to you too,’ he replied. ‘I work with the charity. I’m
assuming you’re here with Emelie?’
‘Yes?’ OK, so I’d been a bit rude, but really, he’d taken me by surprise.
‘How did you know?’
‘Because I was the one who got her involved with the charity in the first
place. I introduced her after your birthday party two years ago?’
Blank stare.
‘At karaoke?’
Blank stare.
‘Karaoke Box? Smithfield?’
‘Ohhh,’ the penny finally dropped. He really did have a good memory.
‘Well, it’s a great photo anyway.’
‘It’s one of my favourites.’ He handed me a small stiff card programme.
Desert series number four, Daniel Fraser. It was his picture. ‘You were on
the shoot, don’t you remember?’
‘Oh my god, I was.’ I took another look. Dan took this? ‘Morocco, isn’t
it? What, four, five years ago?’
‘Four,’ he nodded. ‘You look beautiful by the way. I wasn’t sure it was
you at first.’
‘Same.’ I wasn’t quite sure what to do. The last time we’d spoken, it was
with raised voices. And then there was the terrible Monster Munch hate
crime. Still felt bad about that. ‘So.’
‘So,’ he took my arm in his. ‘Walk?’
This was the second time in two days I was positive someone was going
to kill me. When I had a boyfriend, I could go weeks without fear of
homicide, months even. I really hoped this was just teething trouble and not
a regular part of singledom. We walked out of the gallery in silence, up a
sweeping staircase and stopped once we reached a grand balcony,
overlooking the ballroom. Phew, witnesses. I spotted Emelie in her red
dress right away. I was so proud of her; she looked as if she was having the
time of her life.
‘Should we be up here?’ I looked around nervously. I was pathologically
terrified of Getting into Trouble and the balcony was all but pitch-black,
only lit by the dance floor below. Didn’t seem like somewhere we should
be.
‘Should you be here at all?’ Dan asked. Thankfully I could hear the hint
of a smile in his voice. ‘Don’t actually remember seeing your name on the
guest list.’
‘I’m Em’s date,’ I reminded him. ‘I was on there, just under my other
name, plus one.’
‘So you’ll go gay to get into parties just to see me, but you can’t be arsed
to stick around and finish a job?’
I took that to assume he wasn’t mad at me any more.
‘I want to say sorry for Monday.’ Deep breath, genuine-sounding
apology, beg him to take me to Sydney with him, go and get more
champagne. You can do this, Summers. ‘Everything went a bit blank. She
opened her mouth and I just saw red.’
‘So I see.’ He responded by taking a strand of my hair and running his
fingers along to the end. As it dropped back onto my neck, a shiver ran
down my spine and all the way back up again. ‘Did the red hair make you
crazy or did the crazy lead to the hair?’
‘The list led to the hair.’ I mentally slapped myself around the face. Dan
Fraser did not make me tingly. Dan Fraser made models and morons tingly
and I was neither. Most of the time. ‘As you’ve probably noticed, I can’t be
trusted to take care of myself, so Em and Matthew have made me this list to
… oh god, it sounds so stupid saying it out loud.’
He turned around to rest his back on the banister and gave me his best
Roger Moore eyebrow. It worked well with the tux.
‘It’s a list of things to do to help me deal with the whole being single
thing,’ I confessed before I could stop myself. So that was how James Bond
got so many women. It was all in the tux.
‘Explain please.’
This was fine. I would let him take the piss for five minutes and then he
would agree to get me on the Sydney job and then it would all be worth it.
Dignity was overrated anyway.
‘I’ve never really done the single gal about town thing.’ I examined my
rush-job manicure while I spoke and resisted the urge to start peeling. ‘I
didn’t really know what to do when Simon, well, when Simon dumped me.’
It was still bloody difficult to say. ‘And I’m always writing lists for
whatever and so, the single girl’s to-do list was born.’
‘And what is on this miraculous list?’ he enquired. At least he wasn’t
laughing. ‘Apart from drastic hair alterations and getting fired?’
‘Getting fired wasn’t on there actually.’ I pulled the list out of my tiny
beaded evening bag. I didn’t imagine for a second I’d need it but my OCD
had developed a new symptom that apparently required me to carry it with
me everywhere. It was my very small, very delicate, very close to
disintegrating blankie. ‘See? Makeover, exercise, bungee jump – or similar,
tattoo, date for my dad’s wedding, buy something obscenely expensive and
selfish, write a letter to your ex, find your first crush and break the law.’
He took the napkin from my hand and studied it for a moment. A long
moment in which my heart almost stopped. Then he handed it back.
‘You’re going to do a bungee jump?’ Dan did not look convinced.
Or die.
‘Or similar.’
I stashed the list safely away, looked back at Bond and prepared to start
begging.
‘So I was talking to Veronica and she said you were going to Sydney,’ I
began.
‘Yeah, next weekend. It’s really over with Simon? This isn’t just some
distraction until you get back together?’ Dan stared ahead into the darkness
beyond the balcony.
‘Definitely,’ I confirmed. Talking about just exactly how dumped I was
wasn’t aiding me in my plan to be nice to him. ‘Thanks for making sure.’
‘But you’re never single,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ve known you for six years
and you’ve never been single.’
Without the light of the ballroom on his face, I couldn’t make out his
expression without staring at him. So I did that.
‘First time for everything,’ I replied. ‘You’re the professional bachelor.
Maybe I should have come to you for advice? What are your top tips on
surviving singledom?’
‘Don’t be single,’ he replied instantly.
Oh. Awk-ward.
‘Maybe I need to be on my own for a bit,’ I replied, feeling ten times
more uncomfortable than I had in the bar. ‘Given that I haven’t been
before.’
‘I give you a week.’ He turned back to face me, his usual slightly
mocking smile back in place. ‘I know you, you’re not the kind of girl who
can be on her own.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’ I rubbed my tattoo with my thumb.
‘I already crashed and burned once tonight and I’m supposed to be finding
someone to take to my dad’s wedding, not hiding from the cool kids with
you.’
‘We’re not the cool kids?’ he asked, taking my wrist in his hands. ‘I can’t
believe you got a tattoo. How far are you down this list anyway?’
‘Hmm, makeover, exercise, tattoo, crush, all ticked off,’ I counted in my
head. ‘So four down, six to go.’
‘Crush?’ He traced the pattern of ink along my wrist. There was that
shudder again. Oh balls. No, I was not going to have girl feelings for Dan,
three glasses of champagne and a little light stroking or not.
‘This boy I went to school with.’ My voice was involuntarily shaky.
Stupid ovaries making decisions without me. ‘I found him on Facebook, he
lives in Canada now.’
‘Oh, right.’
I turned my attention back to finding Emelie, but she wasn’t on the dance
floor. And neither was married-with-children Tim. Not ideal.
‘Didn’t your dad get married last year?’ Dan asked, leaning over the
balcony at the side of me. He was so close, I could smell his shampoo. Nice
that he’d showered especially. Not that I was thinking about Dan in the
shower. ‘Or was it the year before?’
‘Year before.’ Score five points for remembering. ‘It’s a fairly regular
thing, a bit like a leap year.’
‘You didn’t think to ask me?’
I smiled and shook my head. ‘I actually did.’
‘But?’ He was so warm. How was he so warm? It was freezing on that
balcony.
‘But you’re dating Ana.’
Never in six years had I known Dan to be lost for words. It must have
been a full moon. Or a blue moon. Or the apocolypse.
‘I’m dating Ana,’ he repeated eventually. ‘So of course you wouldn’t
have asked.’
‘That, and the last time I saw you, you fired me and then I stomped on
your Monster Munch.’ I tipped my head to one side. ‘Not a euphemism.’
‘But you would have asked if I wasn’t?’
‘For the want of anyone else to ask, yes.’
‘Fuck off.’ He closed his eyes and smiled to himself. Smug git.
‘You’re such a charmer.’ Down on the dance floor I spotted Emelie twirl
back onto the dance floor, thankfully sans Married Tim.
‘Leo,’ he held out his hands. ‘Obviously.’
‘Virgo,’ I replied. ‘Obviously.’
‘Most beautiful sign in the zodiac.’ Dan turned to look me straight in the
eye for the first time that night. He tucked my hair behind my ear and left
his hand resting on my cheek. ‘That colour really does suit you.’
‘Aren’t I the make-up artist?’ I tried to laugh at the cheesiness of his lines
but all I could think about was that hand on my cheek. His skin was warm
but mine was burning. ‘I’m the one who’s supposed to be worried about
colours.’
‘I would have been a great make-up artist.’ He dropped his hand. Hmm,
maybe I didn’t want him to move it after all.
‘It’s not like you’re a bad photographer.’ Wasn’t there a point to this
conversation when we started it? I was definitely trying to get somewhere
and I was certain that the original destination was never into Dan’s pants.
‘But make-up is probably the only other profession that would have given
you access to more women.’
He squinted at me through a few unruly curls, smile vanishing. ‘You
really do think I’m just a massive slag, don’t you?’
I wanted to say no, because he obviously wanted me to say no. But I
really did. Even if I felt terrible about it. Ish.
‘I don’t think you’re a massive slag.’
Diplomacy was, after all, just socially acceptable lying.
‘Just a regular slag?’
‘I think you’ve “dated” a lot of models.’ I made air quotes around dated
and got a foul look for my efforts. ‘And I think you have a very flirty
attitude with the rest of the models.’
‘Like I said, Leo,’ he leaned forward again. ‘Can’t help that.’
‘I’m fairly certain that you can’t blame your star sign for your behaviour
when you’re thirty.’ I tried to lean over the balcony beside him without
flashing the entire dance floor below. ‘You are what you are.’
‘And what are you?’ Dan asked. ‘Aside from a borderline OCD totally
judgemental cow?’
Right back on track. Awesome.
‘Aside from that?’
‘Aside from that.’
I watched Emelie dancing just a few feet below, laughing as she spun
from man to man. It was a mystery to me how she hadn’t been fooled into
shackling herself to someone before now. Maybe she really did love being
single. Maybe there really was something to it.
‘I don’t know what I am. I’m good at my job. I’m a good peacekeeper,
contrary to what’s happening right now. I know all the words to every
Destiny’s Child song on record and a couple that aren’t.’ I rubbed my bare
arms. Along with the lights, someone had forgotten to turn the heating on
up here. ‘I want a family. I want a dog. I’m always cold. I can recite the
entire script of Who Framed Roger Rabbit when I’ve had more than three
whiskeys. What else do you want to know?’
‘Who Framed Roger Rabbit is a criminally underrated movie.’ He
slipped off his jacket and placed it around my shoulders. ‘Better?’
It might have buried me and it was so warm from where it had been
moulded to Dan’s body but, in all honesty, I wasn’t warmed through from
the shared body heat so much as the act itself.
‘Better.’ I slid my arms through the sleeves and looked at my fingertips
peeping out of the ends, before I let them dangle down. ‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome.’
The music that had been so loud downstairs was just an echo up on the
balcony, a pulsing beat that counted down the seconds of silence between
us.
‘That really is a beautiful picture,’ I said, just to say something. ‘In the
gallery.’
‘I love what I do.’ He accepted the compliment with a graceful nod. ‘The
magazine stuff pays but that’s what makes me tick.’
‘Yeah, I love doing the editorial stuff,’ I agreed. ‘I’m definitely going to
start pursuing more of that side.’
Sydney. I had to convince him to take me to Sydney. ‘Which reminds me,
the Sydney job.’
I was fully prepared to launch into all the reasons why he should take me
to Australia with him when I felt his hand lightly brush my shoulder. First I
looked at the hand, then at his face, back to the hand and again at the face.
He wasn’t smiling any more. His lips were slightly parted, eyes trained on
mine, as though he was waiting for permission. Not having the words to
deal with this situation, I bit my lip and stayed completely still. Taking my
silence as assent, his fingers slid down my bare skin until they reached my
hand where they curled around mine. My other hand gripped the banister
tightly while his other hand found its way onto my cheek. This was too
weird. As his head leaned in towards mine, I took a tiny step backwards,
breaking his hold on my hand, on my face. He pressed his hands to his
sides, looking at the floor.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked once I’d made it a safe distance away.
‘Nothing,’ he replied, taking his own step backwards and banging his fist
against the solid oak banister. ‘Just me, isn’t it? Can’t help myself.’
I pulled off his jacket and hurled it in his general direction before I turned
and headed for the staircase. I couldn’t be there. I could do this. Whatever it
was. Bye-bye Sydney, I thought as I clomped all the way down to the
bottom. What an arsehole. And I thought I’d fucked things up by shouting
at him. Not even nearly.
‘Hey, there you are,’ a worse-for-wear Emelie greeted me at the bottom
of the stairs. Her eyes weren’t quite focused, but best friend telepathy made
it quite clear that I wasn’t in the world’s best mood ever. ‘What’s wrong?
Do you want to leave?’
‘I’ll tell you later and yes.’ I grabbed one last glass of champagne and
sank it in a one-r. ‘I just need to use the loo.’
Em nodded and pointed down the hallway. ‘I’ll call a cab,’ she scrabbled
around in her clutch for her phone. ‘We wouldn’t make it off the night bus
alive dressed like this.’
‘That or we’d make a lot of money,’ I reasoned, trying to calm down.
‘But I don’t really want to have to put “high-class hooker” on my tax return
this year.’
‘So 2009,’ Em agreed.
Promising myself she was joking, I scuttled off to the loo, desperate to be
out of my beautiful dress and back in my pyjamas so I could go to bed,
wake up tomorrow and pretend the evening had never happened. But, of
course, that would have been too easy.
‘Raq – Rachel?’
Ana stared at me from the doorway of the toilets. It was strange to have
someone more than a foot taller than you cowering in your presence. She
was here? She’d been here the whole time Dan had been doing whatever it
was he was doing? He was such a scumbag. As soon as he decides to
commit to something, he has to bust a move on the closest single girl he can
get his hands on. Actually, that was giving him too much credit; he
probably wasn’t too arsed about the single thing.
‘OK, fine,’ I said more to myself than Ana. ‘I’m sorry about the other
day; I was totally out of order. Now I really need a wee. Can I get past,
please?’
She pushed herself against the wall, creating enough space for a
Chieftain tank and a double-decker bus to get through side by side.
‘Thanks,’ I muttered. ‘Dan’s upstairs.’
‘I know you’re just jealous,’ she said once I was a few feet away. ‘Of
Dan and me. With your “poor me, I’ve been dumped” sob story.’
I stopped in my tracks and turned slowly.
‘Seriously? You think I’m jealous of you and Dan?’
The two girls standing at the sinks suddenly fell silent and began to wash
their hands in slow motion.
‘I know you are,’ she pouted. ‘He’s always talking about you. You’re
obsessed with him. It’s sad.’
‘He’s always talking about me and I’m the one that’s supposed to be
obsessed with him?’
That one didn’t make sense, even for Ana.
‘Ana, Dan and I are friends,’ I explained slowly. Veronica had given me a
pass once, I wouldn’t get a second one; I could not lose my temper. ‘We’ve
been friends for years. The reason I lost my temper on Monday was because
I’d just broken up with my boyfriend and I was a bit hungover. I’m sorry, I
was out of order, but trust me, I am not obsessed with Dan.’
Although you did quite like it when he stroked your arm, you schlaaag,
an unhelpful voice in my head reminded me.
‘Whatever,’ she dismissed, standing up straight. ‘It’s just kinda sad, don’t
you think? You get dumped, fuck up your hair and then go after someone
else’s boyfriend?’
Had to say, I much preferred her afraid.
‘Although I wouldn’t have thought you had it in you,’ Ana fluffed her
long blonde hair so that it settled around her bare shoulders. Her skintight
gold Hervé Léger bandage dress made my formally racy black number look
like I’d borrowed it from the Queen. ‘You’re just so boring.’
‘Boring?’
Don’t hit her, don’t hit her, don’t hit her.
‘Dull as shit actually. No wonder your boyfriend dumped you. Probably
shagging your nan for some excitement.’
I couldn’t hit her. I’d be fired. And she was from Bas Vegas after all,
probably pretty handy in a fight. And those two cows who had been
washing their hands longer than Lady Macbeth were hardly likely to help
me out in a pinch.
‘Probably,’ I agreed, stretching my arm out towards her. I was pleased to
see her flinch.
‘Tattoo, Raquel?’ She slipped back into her coquettish laugh. ‘Who do
you think you are, Angelina Jolie?’
‘Hardly.’ I reached across her face and punched the fire alarm as hard as I
could. The sirens and the sprinklers kicked in immediately. ‘I don’t steal
other people’s men.’
Well, that cleared the loo pretty quickly. Ana ran out screaming, closely
followed by the two witnesses. Emerging back onto the dance floor, I saw a
full evacuation was in full flow. Hmm, maybe I should have thought about
this one a bit more carefully.
‘Rachel, come on, it’s a fire alarm!’ Emelie grabbed my arm and pulled
me towards the door. ‘This is insane. Did you see Ana? And Dan?’
‘Did you?’ I looked around, panicked. Sure enough, there was Ana
sobbing on Dan’s shoulder and bleating at a man in an orange high-vis vest.
Oh dear. Before I could leg it, she was pointing at me and shrieking
hysterically. I caught Dan’s eye for a moment and realized he was trying not
to laugh. I paused and felt a small smile on my lips. I had to stop drinking.
And getting tattoos. And dying my hair red. Actually house arrest from now
on might be for the best.
‘Excuse me, miss.’ An authoritative voice to the side of me got my
attention as the sprinklers stopped. The ballroom was almost empty, save
for me, Emelie, Dan, Ana and a couple of fire wardens. And a policeman.
‘This young lady tells me that you set the fire alarm off.’
‘She does?’ I was still watching Dan. The arsehole was enjoying this.
‘She did it,’ Ana wailed at the top of her voice, all pretence of a pretty
accent vanished. From here on in, the only way was Essex. ‘She facking did
it.’
I was delighted to see whoever had taken care of her make-up for the
evening hadn’t bothered using waterproof formulas. She looked like a
blonde, bedraggled Alice Cooper.
‘Aren’t you Anastasia Smith?’ Emelie stepped forward, looking oddly
starstruck. ‘The model?’
‘Yes,’ she resumed character flawlessly, a beat too late. ‘I am.’
‘The overpaid, talentless old slag who is too stupid to remember
someone’s name?’
Oh, Emelie.
‘Right, that’s it,’ Ana pushed Dan to one side and launched herself at
Emelie. In the blink of a false eyelash, I was in the middle of the world’s
sexiest catfight. It was just a shame we weren’t streaming it live, directly to
Perez Hilton: we probably could have made some money. Ana lashed out
with her acrylic claws but Em was right in there, punches swinging. All my
money was on the redhead. As long as that redhead wasn’t me.
‘Bugger,’ I yelped, taking a swipe to the face and falling to my knees.
‘Friendly fire! Sorry!’ Em panted as the policeman pulled her off, Dan
tackling Ana at the waist.
And so it was, piss wet through, the skirt of my dress all torn up and with
my second black eye of the week, that I was carted off to the police station.
‘Em?’ I whispered, torn between hoping my mum would never find out
about this and wishing they would turn the siren on.
‘Rachel?’
‘Do you think I can count this as breaking the law?’
She sighed and rested her wet head against the back seat.
‘Yeah, Rach.’ She held up her handcuffs to gesture towards mine. ‘I
reckon you can.’
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