‘A bridesmaid dress,’ I replied. ‘I’m the chief bridesmaid.’
She laughed so loudly, people turned to look!
‘What’s so funny?!’
She put a hand up, instructing me to wait until she’d finished laughing. Only she wasn’t even laughing – it was all fake.
‘Oh, it’s nothing. Nothing at all,’ she finally replied.
‘No. Carry on.’ I wasn’t letting this go.
‘Aren’t you a little old to be a bridesmaid? No offence, but it’s a little strange seeing someone in their forties wearing a dress that should be on a much younger woman.’
I’d had enough. ‘Seriously?! You’re sitting there dressed as a Disney character and you have the cheek to try and makemefeel stupid? What the hell is wrong with you? I swear to God, you say one more word and you and your Moschino dress will be going fucking nowhere.’
She looked embarrassed but not beaten. ‘My my. I thought Frank was exaggerating when he said you were overly sensitive but apparently not.’
‘Oh, Frank knows exactly where my sensitive spots are, sweetheart. Maybe he’ll tell you about that one day too.’
I grabbed my juice box from the table and stood up. ‘And I’m not in my forties, I’m thirty-nine. This is what thirty-nine looks like when you haven’t frozen your face into oblivion, you old trout. Oh, and next time you call someone desperate and a useful distraction, make sure their friend isn’t listening behind you.’
As I left she remained quiet, but I could tell she was angry because for the first time in the three years I’d known her, Sarah Ward-Wilson had a frown line.
I spent the remainder of the hour in my car, fuming with her but mainly with myself for letting my secret about Frank slip. He’s going to think I did this on purpose.
November
Friday November 3rd
Oliver’s doing Movember. This man grows hair like a fucking yeti so I reckon it’ll take him two weeks tops to look like Groucho Marx. It’s also officially winter now despite it being November. Seasons mean nothing in Scotland. There was a faint shimmer of ice on the pavements when I picked Molly up from nursery and everyone on Facebook has put their heating on. Still, tonight was Lucy’s hen night and I wasn’t going to let anything spoil it, not even hypothermia.
Still not convinced that we weren’t going to end up in a nightclub or prison, I wore my favourite little black dress and killer heels. I slipped some flat shoes into my bag to soothe any sore dancing feet (or in case we needed to flee from the police). Lucy it seemed was steadfast in her meal plan, though, turning up in jeans and a plain red top, face au natural.
Despite the fact The Jasmine Gardens was miles from anywhere, it was a decent restaurant and not as overpriced as the city centre eateries I’d suggested in my bid to lure Lucy out of the suburbs.
‘What’s Kyle doing tonight?’ Hazel asked, looking around at the half-empty restaurant. ‘God, this place is quiet.’
‘It’s quiet because all the fun people are in bars, drinking heavily,’ I responded glumly.
‘Kyle’s out with his friends,’ Lucy replied, making a face at me. ‘I think they went to The Butterfly and the Pig. He’ll be out for hours.’
Even though the waitress who’d been eyeballing us since we walked in hadn’t seen us pick up a menu, she still marched over to take our food order. Luckily, I knew what I wanted and that wastime to look at the menu, Sharon.
‘Can you give us a few more minutes?’ Hazel asked the impatient server. ‘And do you have a wine list?’
‘Nope.’
I liked her.
‘OK, a bottle of house white is fine. Just whatever, as long as it’s not chardonnay.’
When the wine came, we all predictably ordered the same dish we always ordered and raised a glass to Lucy who was already hogging the prawn crackers.
‘To Lucy! I hope you and Kyle have a wonderful life together,’ Hazel said sincerely. ‘We love you loads.’
‘Hear, hear,’ I seconded. ‘May your life be filled with laughter, sex and the desire to babysit for me as often as possible.’
I saw Lucy’s bottom lip begin to quiver. ‘Oh Jesus, I was kidding! You don’t have to babysit.’
