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She maps out her imaginary idol.
“Younger than Ant. About thirty maybe. Decent age gap between us, but not too much.” She pauses to giggle. “Someone smart, you know? Powerful and manly and awesome. I’m thinking dark hair and blue eyes, a little bit like Ian Somerhalder, but not a vampire. Not ideally, anyway. I don’t want to get my neck bitten. Actually, maybe a bit of a neck biter, just not so hard… I don’t want to bleed to death.”
“I’ll make a note of it.”
“Maybe not so hot on the huge purple alien dildos, either. I’m not sure I could handle one.”
“I’ll make a note of that, too.”
“Have you used it yet?” she asks me. “Have you taken a ploughing from the purple cock?”
It would be so easy to take a shot and confide in her about the whole dirty lot of it. Her eyes are alive and curious, and her tone is so friendly. But I don’t.
I shake my head. “No. I haven’t yet.”
“Damn. I was going to ask how it feels to be sitting on a bollard. Let me know when you find out.”
We’re already laughing out loud as we take our first swig of champagne.
I feel a bit guilty, not doing as Ant suggested and showing off my new cooking skills, but Janie’s right. Pizza Delight is awesome. Their spicy chicken stuffed crust is a dream, and I’m feeling like a stuffed crust myself as we chill out on the sofa, on bottle of De Chante number two.
“When do you think it’s going to happen then, for real?” she asks me. “When do you think Ant is going to get down on one knee and ask you to be Mrs Bradstone?”
“Not sure,” I say, but it sounds like a bullshit answer.
“Shall we take a bet on it? I bet three months, tops.”
“Four,” I say, with a hopeful suspicion that she’s going to beat me.
I’ve had enough glasses of champagne that my words flow easily.
“How would you feel about being my bridesmaid? You could help pick your own dress, I promise.”
She puts her hand on her heart, and I’m surprised at how shocked she is. Her eyes are teary as she answers the question.
“I’d feel absolutely amazing about being your bridesmaid! I’d wear any dress you like!”
“Done deal, then,” I say, and give her a hug. “Do you want to take a bet on how long it’s going to be until I’m walking down the aisle, as well?”
“Twelve months, absolute tops,” she replies. “At least you’ve got the planning skills to make it legendary. You could have an epic event with two weeks’ notice, if you wanted.”
I get a twist in my stomach, because deep down I think I might need those skills. I think I might have a lot less than twelve months to plan my big day when it comes to it. I suspect Ant will have a very definite schedule in his mind on that score. I can’t imagine him waiting twelve months for anything.
It’s almost 1 a.m. when we take Janie’s overnight case up ready for bed. We’ve already done an upstairs tour, so she picks the bedroom she likes best. The one across the hallway from mine.
It has a built-in wall of wardrobes, all mirrored, and it makes the room look even bigger than it is. I open one for her as she unzips her case, so she can get her outfit hanging up and ready for the morning. I’m expecting the wardrobe to be empty with a few token hangers in there, so I jump back in shock as the full stash of clothes comes into view.
The wardrobe is jam packed full of expensive shirts and suits, but they aren’t Ant’s. I know that by looking at them. These are posh, but they aren’t his style. Not quite. The shirts are mainly chequered or striped, and the jackets are mainly tweed, and there are far too many jumpers with not nearly enough waistcoats.
“They’re not Ant’s?” Janie asks, reading my face as I browse through the contents, clearly noticing the confusion on my face.
I pull out a shirt to be sure and it’s definitely not Ant’s size, and nowhere near tailored to the level his are.
“No, I don’t think so.”
She heads over alongside me, thoughts of her overnight case forgotten, and pushes some of the trouser hangers aside to see what’s underneath. The bottom shelf is loaded with bags, cases and boxes.
I open the wardrobe next to it, and there are more bags and cases.
“Does someone else live here?” Janie asks.
“No. Not that I know of.”
“Looks like they do.”
I’m still browsing through the clothes on the rail as Janie watches me.
“Bit weird, isn’t it? You live here with him, and he hasn’t told you that someone else might live here, too.” She giggles. “Oh, hey. Sorry, didn’t I mention another guy lives here. His name is Bob.”
