She hands me her ciggy and leaves before I can change my mind.
If Tara hadn’t sent that invite into work, then Harriet wouldn’t have seen it first and I could have made up an excuse so I didn’t have to go. This thing with Ed is still raw. I’ve only been gone four days, but it feels much longer. We’ve never spent New Year’s Eve apart. How can I welcome in a new year without him?
Ed
When I see Graham’s number appear on my phone, I’m tempted not to answer it. He’s called me four times already and I’m not up for having the same conversation for a fifth time. But if I don’t answer it, he’ll just keep calling. God, he’s annoying.
‘For the millionth time, I’m really not in the mood for a party!’ I yell, before he even has the chance to say hello. ‘I’m just going to have a few beers and watch Jools Holland or something.’
‘Wrong,’ he replies. ‘Because that would mean I have to attend this bloody get-together alone and that’s just not an option.’
Graham’s been invited to a New Year’s Eve party for ‘drinks and nibbles’ and he’s been bugging me to go with him for the past week. I told him that Kate’s gone to a spa with her friend because I’m not ready to admit to myself that we’ve split up, never mind to anyone else.
‘I mean, there is the option of not going at all,’ I suggest. ‘Like I intend to. Just a thought.’
‘I have to,’ he whines. ‘My agent is forcing me to go and be nice to her other clients. I imagine she’s going to force them to be nice to me, too, and it’s going to be dreadful.’
‘Dolly? I can’t imagine her forcing you to do anything. She doesn’t seem the type. Besides, she’ll be there, so you won’t be alone.’
Graham’s agent, Dolly Latimer, is an absolute legend and one of the nicest people I’ve ever met; unlike his first agent, Jeremy Winter, who was the manifestation of human slime.
‘Don’t you be fooled by that woman,’ he tells me. ‘With her kind face and her fancy glasses. . . she’s absolutely ruthless when she needs to be. She’ll get you to do whatever she wants. She’ll just do it in a way that’s quite gentle and supportive, and somehow you end up thinking it was your idea.’
‘Wow,’ I reply. ‘Gentle and supportive. What a monster.’
‘I know,’ he replies. ‘And I pay her thirty per cent for the privilege.’
‘Thirty?’ I question. ‘I thought fifteen was the standard.’
‘It is!’ he exclaims. ‘Somehow, I ended up offering her thirty. I told you. Devil woman. So you have to come– for just an hour or two, I promise. Free beer. Look, you have a few days without Kate, come and babysit me.’
‘Two hours and then I’m out of there,’ I reply. ‘Deal? And don’t make me speak to anyone. I’m too tired for small talk.’
‘Deal! Meet me at Sloane Square about seven? You’re a good man, Edward, so you are. The good lord broke the mould when he—’
‘Oh, shut up. I’ll see you at seven.’
Kate
We take an Uber to Tara’s home in Chelsea, which looks exactly like the pictures I’ve seen online. A 5-million-pound, four-bedroom terraced house, with a cute blue door on a beautifully clean street lined with Teslas and Mercedes.
‘Five mill for this?’ Lauren remarks as she peers out of the window. ‘If I had five million, I’m not sure I’d be living in a terraced house.’
‘London, though, innit?’ the Uber driver remarks. ‘Crazy money. Happy New Year, ladies.’
We thank him and step out on to the street. I have to agree with Lauren, for £5m I’d buy somewhere in the countryside, with lots of space for my three rescue dogs (Rickman, Bobo and Waffle) to run around. Not that I’ve thought about it. I certainly wouldn’t want to be squashed in like sardines.
I ring the bell at number 7 and wait, aware that I’m being viewed in whatever CCTV they have installed and resisting the urge to wave at the camera like an idiot. I turn to see Lauren craning her neck to try and look in the window.
Before I can rein her back in the door opens and Tara appears. ‘Come in, pet,’ she says. ‘I’m so glad you came.’
‘Hi, Tara,’ I reply. ‘Thanks for asking me. This is my friend Lauren.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ she says. ‘You look familiar, have we met?’
‘No,’ Lauren replies. ‘I’d definitely have remembered!’
She invites us in, and we make it about three steps before I hear Tara gasp. ‘Lauren Alexander! I can’t believe it!’
