Page 96 of Me and Mr. Darcy

‘You mean after I threw a pitcher over him?’ laughs Stella. ‘Simple. I ignored him. If you do that he’ll soon get the message.’

‘Well, that’s what I’m going to do,’ I decide firmly, pulling myself together. It’s the lack of sleep that’s making me emotional. Nothing more.

‘What? You’re going to take my advice?’ she gasps in disbelief. ‘Wow, that’s a first. What’s come over you?’

Leaning back against the wall, I think about this last week, about everything that’s happened. I’m still struggling to get my head round it all. ‘I’m not sure exactly,’ I say finally. ‘I’m really not sure. ‘

We say our goodbyes, and of course as soon as we hang up I remember the dress. Damn, I meant to mention it again. Though I wonder why she didn’t. I guess it must have slipped her mind, I decide, descending the staircase; after all, Stella’s not exactly renowned for having the best memory.

Entering the dining room, I try to appear as if it’s the most normal thing in the world to be wearing ten-dollar fake Gucci sunglasses at 9 a.m., on New Year’s Day. Hopefully no one will pay any attention and I can just slip in and out.

‘So you’re alive!’

On second thoughts, perhaps not.

I glance over to see Rose, Maeve, Hilary and Rupinda. Sitting round a table, they’ve all stopped what they’re doing to stare at me. Now I know how it must feel to be famous.

And not in a good way.

‘Well, good morning, Emily,’ Rose is barking. ‘And a Happy New Year.’

Her voice slices right through me and I smile weakly.

‘Got a little bit of a hangover, have we?’ she chortles loudly, waving a thickly buttered English muffin at me.

‘A little bit.’ I nod, sitting down at the empty chair they’ve pulled up for me. Smiling gratefully, I reach for the coffeepot. My hand trembles. This morning I think I’m allowed to dispense with the English traditions and forgo the Earl Grey.

‘We were all very worried about you,’ whispers Maeve, leaning close and placing her hand reassuringly upon mine.

‘What happened exactly?’ demands Hilary, reaching for a slice of toast.

Oh, God, questions, questions. I feel a flurry of panic. This is what I was dreading.

‘I’m not sure . . .’ I reply, feeling my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. ‘I hit my head.’

‘You were gabbling all kinds of nonsense,’ chimes in Rose.

‘I was?’ I feel a beat of alarm. Hurriedly I take a sip of coffee. I need the caffeine urgently.

‘Romantic horserides, moonlit castles, poetry . . .’

‘Mr Darcy,’ adds Hilary, raising an eyebrow.

I freeze, my mouth filled with coffee. It’s lukewarm and slightly bitter. Hilary looks at me suspiciously. Or maybe that’s just me being paranoid. I try thinking of an excuse.

‘Well . . . er . . . you see . . .’ I start my sentence not having a clue where it’s going.

Fortunately, I’m rescued by Rupinda. ‘No need to explain, we all have our fantasies about Mr Darcy.’ She winks, taking a sip of her usual hot water and lemon. ‘Though I must say, yours are a lot more inventive than mine.’

‘Oh, I’ve always had an overactive imagination,’ I joke. ‘Ever since I was a little girl.’ I smile gratefully at Rupinda, relieved to have escaped what was no doubt going to be a very awkward conversation.

‘Thank goodness Spike found you, hey?’ says Hilary.

Only to find myself slap bang in the middle of another.

‘Um . . . yeah . . .’ I murmur vaguely. I really don’t want to talk about Spike.

The ladies, however, obviously have other ideas.