‘Oh, I cancelled your ticket after …’ there is a long pause, then, ‘the incident with the dog.’
The line goes silent. My bitch of a boss is letting her words sink in.
‘You cancelled it three days ago and you never told me!’ My hand clenches into a fist. If she was here now, I’d be having trouble resisting the urge to strangle her or shove the bloody lipstick-scarred apple down her throat.
She is a complete cow – she knows how much this trip means to me and this is the most evil payback ever. I (apparently) screwed up with her #MondayMotivation picture. Daniel’s dog-in-a-bag photo had ten times as many ‘likes’. And Daniel is her arch Insta-rival. Which is why I’ve called in the kittens.
This was not my fault though. Everybody knows a puppy will trump the latest trend any day of the week (apart from #FreebieFriday), and how was I to know he’d spring Lucy the long-haired Chihuahua on the world?
‘I told you he was looking at luxury pet stuff!’ I’d spotted Daniel had started following a designer of diamanté dog collars – but Coral had poo-pooed my suspicions. So it’s her fault she’s in the doggy-do not mine.
‘Have you finished?’ She’s sounding bored.
‘But I’ve got kittens!’ I haven’t had time to talk kittens. I was going to surprise her once I’d got the perfect shot. With her flaming lipstick at the side if necessary.
‘I haven’t got time for that now. We’ll talk about kittens when I get home.’
‘They’ll have grown by then.’
‘Well, get new ones. Very cute ones. Very tiny ones, smaller than Daniel’s cock-sized offering.’
‘I don’t think kittens come that sma—’
‘Oh, whatever, I don’t care. I pay you to come up with the ideas, not bother me with-’
‘You pay me to take—’ I am about to say, take the photographs, but I don’t get the chance.
‘Do what you have to,’ she’s hissing, ‘to make this up to me. Then we’ll see.’ I can hear the click of her nails tapping on the phone. It’s a horrible sound and normally I’d just ring off.
‘So, I can come?’ My little begging voice sounds pathetic even to my own ears. I hate myself.
‘No.’
‘It is so not fair to pull the plug on my trip. I work evening and weekends and …’ I spend my whole life trailing round after her. She has killed my social life, and any hope of ever getting laid again, dead.
‘You should just count yourself lucky you’ve still got a job. Now, I must fly, I’ve got packing to do, and I need a manicure.’
‘Fine. I’ll have a holiday.’ I sound like a stubborn child, I know. ‘I’ll go to Ibiza.’
‘You do that. Don’t forget to post those photos, though, will you? Have you done my big apple?’
I feel like telling her where she can stuff her big apple, and let’s just say it’s in a place where the sun doesn’t shine. I reckon there is steam coming out of my ears. I can’t speak, just mouth soundlessly. But it doesn’t matter, she just takes my silence as agreement and goes off to pack.
I throw the bloody apple across the room, where it hits the window with a satisfying squelch, then I sink down onto the floor and put my head in my hands.
How could she do this to me? Devastated is not the word. Not that I wanted to go with her, but New York, I ask you. I could have begged, I should have begged. I think I might have been whimpering, and if she’d have been here, I might have been tempted to lick her feet (no, I wouldn’t, I take that back).
I don’t know why I put up with her.
Well, I do, I need the money.
I need the flat. I need Freddie.
My phone pings. Maybe it’s a last-minute reprieve? Maybe she actually has got a heart?
It’s a text from Rachel: Have fun in New York, I’m well jel! xx
Me, too.
Chapter 5
‘Trouble with the apple, babes?’ Freddie, slumps down on the settee behind me and ruffles my hair, which is slightly annoying, but I can’t be bothered to thump him like I normally would. For the ruffling and for the ‘babes’ – which he only does to get a reaction. He leans in to take a closer look at me, and his brow furrows. ‘Wow, you really are upset. What’s up? What’s Coral the cow done now? Demanded the kitties have a mani, pedi and close shave before she even entertains the thought of them appearing on her feed?’
I can’t even raise a glimmer of a smile. I sigh and blink. As well as being an excellent kitten wrangler, he’s also good for chatting to, but I can’t work out how to speak about her without either screaming or crying. So, I change the subject.
‘Was Lora okay?’
‘She wasn’t in. Some long-haired lout in a biker jacket answered the door. I gave him my hard “Hurt these kittens and you are so dead, mate” stare.’
‘I bet he was quaking in his biker boots.’ Deep inside, I feel a slight lift: I’m pleased Lora wasn’t there, it makes me feel very slightly better.
‘Crocs. He had pink Crocs on, not boots. That’s why I dared glare at him.’
‘Ahh … you’re just a big wuss at heart.’
‘Sure am. You did explain to Coral what you meant by close-ups of a ginger pussy, didn’t you?’ He nudges me with his elbow.
‘Eugh, stop it. That’s disgusting.’ But I can’t help the tiniest of smiles from teasing at my taut face muscles. I actually feel like I’ve got a very thick face mask on and it’s set like concrete.
‘Wow mate, this is serious, isn’t it?’ He’s spotted the debris on the table. He eyes up the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc I’ve opened, the biggest pizza the guy at Domino’s would make for me (sometimes even a Mighty Meaty needs extra toppings), the tub of Ben and Jerry’s Salted Caramel Brownie, and the box of man-sized tissues with suspicion. ‘None of this was here when I went out a couple of hours ago.’
I nod.
‘I thought you said you were going carb free until you got to the Big Apple.’
‘If I do that,’ I swallow away the lump in my throat, ‘I will die of malnutrition.’
He waits. He’s good at waiting and listening. Like the old Golden Retriever I had when I was a teenager.
‘Because I’m not going.’ I take another big bite of pizza and try to swallow it down past the lump in my throat. And nearly choke. Freddie bangs me hard on the back, helpfully. ‘No Big Apple for me.’
‘What? But, you’re flying out in two days, you’ve bought stuff, you’ve packed. I thought she was dead set on going, that she had her eye on the U.S. and—’
‘She is, she has, it’s just me that isn’t going.’ I take a deep breath. ‘She cancelled my ticket.’
‘Why the hell would she do that? She needs you!’
‘She doesn’t need me, she’s got Crystal.’
‘Crystal?’ There’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his generous mouth, and I know he’s dying to laugh. ‘Coral and Crystal, you’re kidding me? Are they a new double act?’
‘Crystal is her American friend.’ I smile, despite myself. It’s hard not to.
‘So, she dumped you for some American photographer?’
‘She dumped me because of bloody Daniel.’
‘Daniel? Is that her new shag?’
‘No, he’s that stupid flaming Instagrammer she’s at war with.’ I bury my face in my hands.
‘Ahh.’
‘Sorry,’ I glance up at him through my fingers, ‘I was shouting, wasn’t I? Sorry. He’s the one with the puppy.’
‘So that’s why you’d got kittens?’
‘You got it in one.’ I top up my wine glass and wave the bottle in his direction.
‘It’s okay, I’ve got beer!’ He sinks down onto the carpet next to me and helps himself to pizza. ‘Bloody hell, what are those brown bits?’
I peer at his slice. ‘Anchovy.’
‘Are you sure that goes with the sausage?’
‘Anchovy goes with everything, and so does sour cream.’
‘Wondered what that was.
So, this Daniel?’
‘He’s got more likes this month than she has, way more. This is her way of getting even. She says if she loses any sponsorship she will die.’ I try my best to say the last word in her melodramatic way.
‘What a cow. Shame you didn’t tip her into the Thames while you had the chance.’ Freddie knows all about how Coral and I met, and most things that have happened since.
He drapes his arm over my shoulders and squeezes. It’s nice, even nicer than the image of Coral flapping about in the murky brown water in her designer gear.
I’m tempted to just grab him and blub into his shirt, but I don’t think he signed up for that level of interaction when he agreed a flat share.
‘And …’ I bite my lip, trying to hold in the sudden rush of anguish. I’ve not really come to terms with the New York bit yet, it’s not sunk in, but this bit has. It is here and now, and it hurts. I wave my mobile his way. ‘I was just trying to book a cheap deal to Ibiza.’ A tear trickles past my defences, so I scrub my cheek with the back of my hand and hope he hasn’t noticed. ‘But I can’t.’ It comes out as a bit of a wail. ‘My credit card won’t play ball, I can’t even book the most economy of economy flights, the crappiest airline in the world refused to take me because I’m maxed out,’ I rub my forearm over my face, the back of my hand isn’t coping, ‘buying all those frigging clothes.’
‘Oh, shit. Oh, hell, Jane, but you don’t need to go away, do you? You can stay here, have some free time and …’ His voice tails off. Then his eyes twinkle at me. ‘We can play with kittens?’
‘What is it with you and kittens?’ I frown at him, suddenly worried that he has some unhealthy fetish and I’ve got him all wrong.
He sighs. ‘I was thinking about you, not me. But hands up I’m man enough to admit that I need cuddles and cute as much as the next person.’
‘Amy was quite cute …’ I pause. ‘And cuddly.’ Amy was the girl he brought back a couple of weeks ago, and boy was she into cuddles. In a man-eating, down the throat, kiss your face off, crawl all over you like a rash kind of way.
I’d hidden in the bedroom in case she’d accidentally got confused and clambered over me as well. And because it was making me feel a bit queasy.
‘Cuddly as a polar bear.’ He pulls a funny face and does a clawing gesture. Girls flock to Freddie like bees to a honey pot, but he rations the stuff, then tells them to buzz off after a very short time. If he hits three weeks with the same girl I start to get scared she’ll be moving in, or he’ll be moving out. Three weeks for Freddie is heavy. But the moment they get familiar with the contents of our cupboards, he starts the retreat. There was one girl, Annie, who he seemed to like; he ended up rearranging all our food (I nearly had an incident when I grabbed the coffee and it turned out it was gravy granules) so that he could kid himself that she hadn’t got her feet under the table. I’ve not got to the bottom of it yet, but I will. ‘But kittens don’t come with strings attached, do they?’
‘I hope not.’ Although strings might have been handy on the photoshoot front.
‘You can just chill with them, they have no expectations, they’re not planning the future you’ve not agreed to.’
‘Just their next meal.’
We both contemplate a relationship with a cat. Then I snap out of it. If I’m not careful it will be slippers and cocoa next.
‘I can’t have a staycation. I told Coral I was going to Ibiza, and she lives on social media so I’ve got to post photos on Facebook because if she gets the slightest hint that I’m still here, or pissed off or sulking then she’ll be onto me in an instant. She’ll be gloating, making my life even more of a misery, then she’ll probably sack me for being a wuss.’ I grimace. ‘She hates wusses.’ Coral loves to be in control, she’s an out and out bully, but she likes to think she’s controlling people with backbone, not easy targets. God, the woman is totally power crazy. And deluded.
Freddie munches on some pizza for a few minutes. Then swills it down with his beer. ‘Hate to tell you, but this anchovy idea is wrong on so many levels.’
‘Name one.’
‘Salt. Too much.’ He tries another bit, flicking the fishy bit off onto my slice. We’re like an old married couple, swapping the bits we don’t like. ‘I’ve got it!’ He sits upright, abruptly. ‘We’ll go to Brighton.’
‘I’ve got it’ and ‘Brighton’ aren’t two phrases I’d normally put together.
‘Come again?’
‘My parents place. Come on,’ he nudges me, ‘you’d be doing me a favour, it’s boring going on my own.’ I don’t know that much personal stuff about Freddie, but I do know that his parents are currently swanning around in their villa in Italy and his good-son duties including regular trips to check up on their house. Tidy up, move post, weed the path and generally make sure it doesn’t look neglected.
When we first lived together, his periodic disappearing act had intrigued me. Me and Rach had invented all kinds of elaborate scenarios – like he was a spy on a mission, or had a secret wife and family, or had a cannabis den.
Then I spoiled things by asking him, because I’m nosy.
I mean, Brighton is a bit of a killer on the exciting escapades front, doesn’t exactly say 007 or Mission Impossible, does it? Though I’m sure it’s a lovely place. And lively. And the home of DJ’s and raves and stuff.
‘We’ll use it as a hideaway, then you won’t get spotted and you can pretend you’re in Ibiza.’
‘I can?’
‘You can.’
‘Er, there are holes in that solution. Like no sun and a pier.’
He winks. ‘Post photos of Spain – I won’t tell if you don’t. I’ve got some rave ones from when I was a student.’
‘Oh, Freddie.’ I can’t help myself. It’s the wine and the emotion and the relief. I fling myself at him. He freezes for a second.
We do occasional clap on the back type hugs, but not this type. Then he pats my back awkwardly, in a there-there kind of way, then unexpectedly hugs me properly. Then disengages. We both launch ourselves at the pizza, gorging on chunks of stuffed crust, and surreptitiously edge an inch or two away from each other suddenly mega aware that our knees had been touching.
I clear my throat.
‘So, er, you got pissed in Ibiza? You went to raves?’
‘All-nighters, making the moves, babe.’ He makes a few very strange moves.
‘I think it might be better to stop doing that.’ I giggle.
‘You’ve seen nothing until you’ve seen techno, Freddie.’
‘Haven’t you got to go to work?’
‘I’m owed time off, and besides, it’ll be good going together. It’s fun. You really do need to tell that cow where to get off though.’
‘I know.’ I nod. ‘I know, and I will, just not yet.’ I’ve only just got used to the idea that Andy could change my life like he did and that I could do nothing about it. Right now, I’ve got a reliable income and a home I like, I’m not ready to risk losing it all.
‘I know. You’ll get there.’ He winks, then holds his beer bottle up. ‘What do you say? Brighton then?’
‘Brighton.’ We clink.
Desperate times require desperate measures – so, Brighton it is.
Chapter 6
I need to pack for Brighton, and right now I’m thinking a rucksack with spare jeans and a few T-shirts is all I need.
This is partly because, 1. it is probably all I need, and, 2. I don’t want to have to unzip my flaming suitcase and face all my lovely US-bound clobber, which I still haven’t unpacked.
I’m not quite ready for a reminder that I should soon be heading to the airport for a long flight, and bubbly, and hilarity and jetlag and the promise of NEW YORK (yes, I know I’ve gone shouty) and cocktails and, well, New York.
‘Jane, door for you!’
Freddie’s yell stops me giving my innocent suitcase the evil eye. Sugar, I’m not supposed to be here! I’m supposed to have jetted off. Why is anybody at the
door for me? Unless Coral actually has realised not even she can be that evil, and has sent a taxi?
I realise I’m flapping round, spinning in a circle. Trying to decide if I should dive in the wardrobe or under the bed, or if Freddie will come in after me and I’ll look even more foolish than I already feel.
I stop.
Stop panicking. That’s tomorrow. I am supposed to be here today. I am here.
‘Surprise!’ I spin round and it’s Rachel.
‘Rach! What the hell are you doing here?’ Rachel is never here. Rachel doesn’t live anywhere near me.
‘Crappy work conference, so I thought I’d see if I could catch you before you went!’ She throws herself on the bed, dramatically. ‘You’ve got to save me from my earnest colleagues.’ She rolls her eyes, then spots the case. ‘Wow, are you sure that case is big enough? I’d be taking one double that size if it was me. You are just so cool about all this.’
‘No, I’m not.’ I shove the suitcase off the bed and flop down beside her. ‘I’m not being cool.’
‘God, you are. I am so envious of your jet set lifestyle.’
‘Don’t be.’ I close my eyes, then open them and peep at her. Lying on the bed next to me. ‘Can you keep a secret, Rach?’
She props herself up on one elbow.
‘Course I can! We can do swapsies. You first.’
‘I’m not going to New York.’ I avoid her eye as I say it.
‘Really?’ She sits up a bit higher and I can feel her staring at me. ‘But, you’ve packed, and …’
‘You don’t need to tell me.’ I groan and put my hands over my eyes. ‘I’ve packed, spent up and told the whole world about it. What will everybody say?’
‘Fuck everybody else. It’s you I care about!’ She drags my hands away and looks into my eyes, which have gone a bit blurry.
Saying it out loud has made me feel sorry for myself.
‘Aww, hell, Jane, you were so looking forward to it.’ She wraps me in a hug and I try not to sniffle. ‘What happened?’
‘Coral happened.’ Freddie’s deep voice rumbles unexpectedly into the room. ‘Mind if I join you?’
‘Bugger off.’ We both shout at the same time, then Rachel levers herself up.
Bridesmaids: The funniest laugh out loud rom com of 2019 – the perfect beach read! Page 4
