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“And you too, sweetheart.”
“Okay, thanks for calling. Bye.”
“Bye, and oh, errr… wait, erm…” he hesitates, “Look, I know you probably don’t give a damn, and I don’t blame you, but Nick’s out of his coma. I just thought you should know, that’s all. He’s going to be okay. He’ll be going home soon.”
My stomach fizzes. The hairs on my arms spring to attention. I’m silent for what seems like forever, and then I say. “Ronan, I’m glad to hear that.” And I am. I know he treated me really badly but I don’t want him to die. “I’m glad he’s feeling better and out of danger but…” I breathe in the smell of freshly cut grass mingled with the remnants of burning coal from next door’s barbecue. “Look, the thing is, I haven’t told anyone that I visited Nick in hospital.” Apart from Mum and June, that is, but they’ve both been sworn to secrecy. There’s a few seconds of silence.
“Okaaay.”
“It’s just that I’ve been humiliated enough and if everyone finds out about his other woman and everything…” There’s a loud thrash and I jump as Flossy, next-door’s cat, leaps over the fence. “Look, just promise me you won’t tell anyone I was there.” My heart knocks hard against my chest – thud, thud, thud. Flipping Flossy. I glance up. June’s silhouette is at the window. I move out of sight just as she yanks the curtain back.
“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya.”
“Not even Nick.” Silence. Shit. I bet he’s already bloody told him. “Ronan!”
“Okay, okay, I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.” Phew. Thank you, God.
13
“You’ve got to go,” Louise says excitedly when I explain about the dinner date I received this morning attached to a parcel on my doorstep.
“If she doesn’t go, then I will,” Tina chips in, snorting incredulously. The trouble with taking relationship advice from Tina is, well, how I can put this subtly – useless. She’ll more or less date anyone with a pulse. “I don’t even have to see him,” she continues, my point proven, “he could have a face like Godzilla for all I care. That romantic gesture is good enough for me – a proper fairy-tale.” She drains her glass and asks us all for another round.
We’re at The Flask in Highgate, cosied up on a red, squishy seat in one of their snug, dark rooms. I even managed to persuade Vicky to come along, having been forgiven for what she interpreted as an accusation of being “a fucking useless mother” - her words, not mine. But it did take three days of grovelling. I look at my watch. It’s almost nine-thirty.
“Oh, go on, then,” I say, “I’ll have another white wine in case Jess turns up.” Jess has promised to make an appearance before meeting up with Sky, her new boyfriend, but she’s yet to show. “But make it a small one this time.” Tina laughs and calls me a lightweight, but I’ve already had two large glasses and I’ve got an early start tomorrow. Raymond has won a new client and is holding a morning conference to discuss their requirements, and he specifically said he wants my input. Mine! How amazing is that? Fearne has been praising my work to him for weeks and it’s finally sunk in. I don’t want to let her down.
“He was really impressed by what I showed him, Audrey,” she told me yesterday afternoon over a latte at Café Nero. “It’ll be a great opportunity for you to learn and grow within the company.” At least one thing in my life is going right and I can’t afford to muck it up with a hangover.
“I s’pose I’ll have another juice,” Louise groans, swirling the orange liquid at the bottom of her glass unenthusiastically.
“Surely, you can have one proper drink.” Tina stands up, grabs her purse from her Louis Vuitton bag and looks at Louise pointedly, hand on hip. I hope Louise is going to decline. She tilts her head thoughtfully, biting her bottom lip. I can see she’s tempted.
“Maybe not, Loulou,” I interject. “It might make you feel ill.”
“You’re allowed one, aren’t you?” Tina addresses this question to Vicky, who, stimulated by the effects of booze, gives us a full and detailed run down on the dangers of drinking alcohol whilst pregnant in a very shouty voice. A bald man with a round, bright red face at an adjacent table gives Vicky an annoyed sideward glance, but this only spurs her on.
“And the more you drink the greater the risks.” Vicky takes a swig from her Peroni bottle and throws red-faced man an annoying look. Now if that was me I’d have asked for a glass with that beer, afraid that it might smudge my lipstick or make me look unladylike, but not Vicky. Vicky has an invincible air of femininity about her, despite her tomboyish demeanour. She’s one of those lucky women who are slim but full in the right places, you know the type. “It reaches your baby through your placenta,” she explains, moving her hands randomly over her flat tummy. Red-face man huffs in exasperation, then with a tight expression mutters something to his companion before grabbing the waitress’s attention and loudly asking for the bill.
“Really? What about those women who get pregnant after a drunken one-night stand, then?” Tina protests, flicking back her freshly blow-dried hair, “Or the ones who don’t know they’re pregnant and carry on drinking heavily throughout their pregnancies. They still have normal, healthy babies, don’t they? In fact, I read about a woman recently who didn’t know she was pregnant until she dropped it in the toilet.”
I stare at my nails as they babble on about alcohol and pregnancy. I wish they’d shut up about babies. Nick’s should be due soon, judging by the size of his girlfriend’s belly. But they’re not to know, are they? Not only would they be more sympathetic if they did, they’d hunt them both down, gag them and tie them up in my parents’ shed for a week – at least.
“Well, they’ve just been lucky,” Vicky muses. “You see, the baby can’t process the drink as quickly as we can and so it stays in their system for longer, can you imagine their tiny little hearts and…”
“Stop! Enough!” Louise raises a hand, placing the other protectively over her tummy. “I’ll just have another juice please, Tina.” And with a “suit yourself” expression, Tina saunters off to the bar, her tall, slim body snaking through the small, noisy crowd that’s just arrived.
“Sooooo, a pair of Jimmy Choos!” Louise says conspiratorially going back to the subject of this morning’s parcel. “How exciting!”
“Well, not exactly a pair,” I say.
Louise and Vicky listen transfixed, arms crossed in front of them, shoulders touching, as I recount this morning’s events. The doorbell rang at about nineish. Luckily, I was working from home today but was still in my jimjams. By the time I threw on a dressing gown and got to the door, the driver had gone. I just caught a glimpse of a white van speeding into the distance. My first thought was that it was another belated wedding gift. I felt sick with unease as I carried it through to the lounge expecting a set of twin bath towels or a shiny kitchen implement to burst out of the package. But as I tore off the brown paper wrapping, I was greeted with a Jimmy Choo shoe box. I thought it was a mistake, to begin with. I couldn’t remember ordering anything, especially not from such an expensive shop.
“You can imagine my reaction when I saw the red stiletto nestled against a tan dust bag, can’t you?” I enthuse, and they both shake their heads in agreement, I’m well known for my shoe obsession. I’ve got over two hundred pairs. Nick used to call me Imelda Marcos. “Honestly, girls, it looked absolutely stunning, like a priceless jewel. It must have cost a bloody fortune.” I close my eyes briefly. I can almost smell the waft of new leather seeping from the box as I opened the lid. “It was only when I read the card that I knew it wasn’t a mistake.”
“What did the card say?” Louise and Vicky ask in unison, eyes twinkling, mouths slightly open.
“It said, Join me for dinner, Cinderella, and I’ll bring the other one. Daniel. And his phone number.” I gaze up as Tina shoulders her way through the crowd with a tray. “Oh, and a kiss.”
