Page 11 of Me and Mr. Darcy

‘Festive?’

‘And fun,’ I add hopefully.

‘Festive and fun?’ she gasps in disbelief. ‘Emily, are we talking about a dress here or a novelty blow-up Santa?’

I make a last-ditch attempt. ‘It has sequins,’ I venture doubtfully.

Stella’s face collapses. She looks distraught, standing there in her vintage pussybow blouse and asymmetrical skirt from a boutique that’s so intimidating I daren’t even peer in the window.

‘Festive is not fun, Emily, it’s a fashion nightmare,’ she’s shrieking, clutching her temples. ‘Festive has zero style. All those boring little black dresses, sequinned scarves and sparkly eyeshadow.’ She gives a little shudder and suddenly I remember.

Oh, no. Please don’t let her see my new—

‘What’s this?’

Too late.

Pouncing on my new sparkly eyeshadow that I bought in the same desperate shopping trip, Stella sweeps a shimmery stripe across her eyelid, then stands back and peers at herself.

‘Iridescent Frost?’ she accuses.

I knew I should have bought matt. I knew it.

‘So, back to Freddy. There’s definitely no chance of romance?’ I ask, trying to distract her before it gets worse and she discovers the sequinned scarf I bought on a whim at the weekend.

Thankfully it works.

‘Absolutely not,’ she gasps and flops down on to my white cotton comforter. ‘I may be married, but I’m very much single. And I need my best friend.’ Pouting, she rolls over on to her stomach and props herself up on her elbows. ‘Are you sure I can’t persuade you to ditch the old folks on the minibus and come have some fun in Mexico instead? There’s still one space left.’ She pretends to whimper.

‘It’s a luxury tourbus,’ I correct her. ‘And no thanks.’ I shake my head. ‘I know you find this hard to believe, Stella, but I want to go on this tour.’ It’s true. Now I’ve had the chance to think about it, I’m really looking forward to it. ‘I’ve always wanted to go to England, ever since I read Jane Austen, and now’s my opportunity.’

‘Well, the British men can be pretty cute,’ concedes Stella, completely missing my point. ‘Just look at Daniel Craig.’

‘I’m not going for the men,’ I gasp impatiently, attempting to stuff The Time Traveller’s Wife through a tiny gap in the zipper of my suitcase.

‘Not even James Bond?’ she sighs dreamily. Then seeing me struggling, snaps, ‘Jesus, Em. Haven’t you got enough books already?’

‘Some people pack too many clothes, with me it’s books,’ I say coolly, in an attempt to justify myself.

Hoisting herself up from my bed, Stella shoots me a look that says she’s not buying it.

‘I never know what I’m going to want to curl up in bed with.’ I shrug.

‘How about trying a man?’ she retorts, tugging on her scarf and mittens.

Now it’s my turn to shoot her a look.

‘Seriously, Em, how long has it been since you actually . . . ?’

‘I’ve told you. The only men I’m interested in are in here . . .’ I grab my copy of Pride and Prejudice and slap it on the top of my suitcase.

‘OK, OK, I won’t say another word.’ She holds up her mittened hands in surrender. ‘Anyway, I’d better go. I’ve got a plane to catch?’

I nod. ‘Shame we’re flying from different airports or we could have shared a cab.’

We both look at each and I realise it’s time to say goodbye.

‘Well, toodle-pops,’ trills Stella in an appalling attempt at a British accent.