by Lynda Renham
‘We ordered from Spice Alley yesterday. The cheek of this woman, thinking that we’d forgotten,’ laughs Mak.
Jasper breaks open the champagne, the cork hitting the lampshade as usual.
‘Bingo,’ shouts Mak.
Mak holds up his glass up in a toast.
‘To Phoeb and all who sail in her. Happy birthday darling, you don’t look a day over thirty-seven,’ he grins.
‘Oh sod off,’ I laugh.
The food tastes even better than it smells.
‘So, what happened with Ashby?’ asks Imogen, sipping from her orange juice.
‘He’s broken up with Essex Earring,’ I say through a mouthful of noodles.
They gasp.
‘No way,’ says Mak.
I nod.
‘You’re a celebrity now. He’d much rather be seen with you,’ says Jasper.
‘Well, we’re here because we like you for who you are,’ says Malcolm, raising his glass.
‘Aw, thanks.’
‘Top ups?’ declares Mak, handing round bottles of beer.
‘A bit of Adele I think,’ says Jasper, rummaging through my CD collection.
‘Blooms have bought my flat,’ I say. ‘I imagine my rent will be sky high in a few months.’
‘How is the divine Harry Bloom?’ Mak asks.
I shrug.
‘You said some nice things about him in your blog.’
I did.
‘Ooh that kiss, petal.’
‘Right, who’s for a Dubonnet?’ I say.
Everyone laughs and I blush furiously. Oh no, what if Harry Bloom has read it. Surely he has far better things to do than read my silly blog. He’s probably been out living it up with Prince Harry.
‘Presents,’ I say, unwrapping the packaging.
‘It’s only a pair of socks,’ says Mak. ‘And one of those shawl things you like.’
I hug him and Jasper. Imogen fidgets as I open hers. It’s a bracelet inscribed with Friends Always.
Tears prick my eyelids and I hug her quickly.
‘Thanks Gem.’
‘And thank you for throwing a decent glass of wine in Daniel’s face.’
I gasp.
‘Moira from Kids saw you in the pub. She said you threw a whole glass of wine at someone. At first I thought it must have been Ashby but then she described him and I knew it was Daniel.’
‘I’m sorry Imogen.’
‘We’re sorry we missed it,’ laughs Mak.
‘Birthday cake,’ declares Jasper.
The door buzzer sounds and we all look at each other. I push the intercom.
‘Phoebe, its Ashby. I hope it’s okay to come by. I thought you might be a bit lonely. I’ve got a present for you.’
‘O. M. G.,’ whispers Imogen.
Mak sniggers.
‘I thought you might be a bit lonely,’ he giggles.
‘Oh right, come up,’ I say.
‘Oh no,’ says Imogen, ‘wait until he sees us lot.’
‘I told him I was spending my birthday reflecting.’
‘Does he still think I’m your boyfriend?’ asks Malcolm.
‘You clearly haven’t read her blog love,’ says Mak.
‘No, I think he now knows I hired you for the Snograss do.’
There’s a tap at the door and everyone goes quiet. I open it. Ashby stands there with a huge bouquet in one hand and a bottle of Prosecco in the other.
‘Happy birthday,’ he says leaning forward to kiss me on the cheek.
‘You’re just in time for cake,’ says Imogen.
‘Oh,’ says Ashby taken aback. ‘Sweet.’
‘They surprised me too,’ I smile, opening the door wider.
‘Sweet,’ he says.
I take the flowers and Mak takes the Prosecco.
‘Ooh lovely bubbly. There’s still some Thai left over,’ he says.
‘Shall I take your jacket,’ I say.
‘I thought you’d be alone, you know, reflecting about your life.’
‘That only took about ten minutes,’ laughs Mak. ‘Have you met Jasper, Ashby?’
Poor Ashby looks shell-shocked.
‘Erm …’
‘I’ll get you a plate,’ says Imogen.
‘What would you like to drink?’ asks Malcolm holding up two bottles.
I give him a beer.
‘You’re not driving are you love?’ asks Mak.
‘No, I got a cab.’
I smile. No doubt he was hoping we could get drunk on his Prosecco and he would stay the night.
‘Birthday cake,’ declares Jasper again.
Ashby grabs a cushion from the couch and sits on the floor next to me.
‘Happy thirty-fourth,’ he says. ‘You don’t look it.’
‘I feel ancient.’
‘You’re such a good liar darling,’ laughs Mak. ‘She looks all of sixty-five.’
The lights are turned off and all that can be seen is the flickering of the candles on the birthday cake. Everyone sings happy birthday and I feel myself well up again.
‘We couldn’t get thirty-four candles on the cake, so we opted for three one side and four the other. God girl, how did you get to be so old?’ says Mak.
‘I don’t know,’ I smile. ‘It sneaked up on me.’
Just like everything seems to sneak up on me, like unwanted weight gain and body hair.
Ashby smiles at me. I don’t know what to make of him. Is he here because he really wants to be here or am I more appealing now that everyone is talking about me? Okay, I know I’m not Kylie Jenner. Thank God for that. I don’t have her breasts for a start and I certainly don’t have her money. I couldn’t imagine being that famous.
I can’t believe I’m thirty-four. It doesn’t seem like four years have passed since I had my thirtieth birthday party.
‘Come on blow them out, petal. We don’t want to be here until Christmas,’ says Mak, pulling me out of my daydream.
I blow the candles out and everyone cheers. There’s a knock at the door and Mak raises his eyebrows.
‘More visitors,’ he says. ‘Wow, who’s Miss Popular?’
Chapter Forty-Eight
‘Uh oh,’ says Imogen. ‘Have we been too noisy?’
‘It is a birthday party,’ says Malcolm.
‘It’s probably Mr Tyler,’ I say, opening the door. ‘He doesn’t like Adele.’
Harry Bloom stands on the threshold. He looks gorgeous in a dazzling white shirt and dark blue jeans. His hair is tousled like he’s just got out of the shower. I can’t believe how my heart flutters. I feel strangely light headed and grasp the door handle for support.
‘Happy birthday,’ he says.
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Thanks. How did you know?’
‘Mak mentioned it at The Blue Note.’
‘Hello,’ says Mak rushing up behind me. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m great thanks,’ says Harry.
‘Is he coming in love?’ asks Mak, nudging me.
‘Of course, come in,’ I say, blushing.
‘We’re having a little birthday bash for old Phoebe. She is certainly old now.’
Yes, thanks Mak.
‘Hi,’ says Imogen, rushing to kiss him on the cheek.
‘Congratulations,’ says Harry, ‘I read your news on …’
There is a short silence and I blush even more. Shit, bollocks and treble shit. Harry Bloom has only read my blog.
‘Thanks,’ says Imogen finally, breaking the silence.
‘What can we get you?’ Jasper asks. ‘We’ve got wine, Prosecco, Dubonnet or beer. And there’s birthday cake.’
‘There’s some Thai food over,’ says Mak.
‘A beer and birthday cake sound good,’ says Harry, looking at me. ‘You sorted out old Henry then?’
‘In a roundabout way,’ I say blushing.
‘Happy birthday,’ he says again, handing me a gilt-edged envelope.
‘Oh, you shouldn’t have, really.’
‘That means
you should have,’ laughs Mak.
‘Have you met Ashby?’ Imogen asks, pulling Ashby forward.
Ashby looks decidedly uncomfortable.
This is the thing. The thing I don’t understand. How can a 34-year-old, reasonably attractive, if slightly overweight, well since Christmas anyway, woman, get so much attention? I’d been thinking I was so unattractive and couldn’t get a man when the fact is I’ve been getting plenty. Okay, albeit not the right ones, but men all the same. Maybe I’m not as fat and ugly as I think I am.
‘We met at the Christmas party,’ Ashby says, grabbing another beer.
I open the envelope and gasp.
‘It’s a box,’ I say in surprise.
‘A box of what? Besties?’ asks Imogen.
‘A box at the Royal Opera House,’ I say.
‘You don’t have to go if you hate the opera,’ Harry says in a nonchalant way. ‘It takes four people so you don’t have to go alone.’
‘I can’t possibly …’
‘That’s all you ever say,’ he smiles.
‘Thank you, it’s very kind of you.’
‘I like the opera,’ says Ashby.
He bloody does not. I’d asked him several times to take me and he kept saying it wasn’t a macho thing to go to the opera. Harry raises his beer to me just as the doorbell goes. This is getting ridiculous. Please don’t let it be my mother. Imogen shrugs and Mak raises his eyebrows.
‘I can’t imagine who that is,’ I say.
I press the intercom.
‘Hello.’
‘Phoebe Smith?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s Nigel, Nigel Taylor-Lynworth, may I come up?’
‘It’s almost ten,’ says Imogen. ‘He’s a bit late calling.’
‘I’m having a little birthday party,’ I say into the intercom.
‘I saw on your records it was your birthday, I’ve just brought a little something.’
‘Huh,’ says Imogen. ‘I don’t like the sound of his little something.’
‘A peace offering,’ says Nigel. ‘I was on my way back from dinner.’
‘Hold on a sec,’ I say and turn to the others.
‘You’re all here, he can’t do anything. Shall I let him up?’
‘I suppose it would be good if we all hear what he has to say,’ says Imogen.
Goodness me, and there was me thinking I was going to be all alone on my birthday.
‘Gosh, it’s getting a bit full in here,’ I say reaching for my wine glass. Harry hands it to me and our eyes meet.
‘Thank you for the lovely present,’ I say.
‘You’re welcome. They’re performing Tosca next week. It’s one of my favourites. I think you’d like it.’
‘Oh, maybe I’ll go and see that one.’
He nods. The door opens and Nigel pops his head around it.
‘Oh hello,’ I say.
‘I won’t stay,’ he says.
‘Oh good,’ quips Imogen. I give her a sharp look.
‘Just a little something,’ he continues and hands me an envelope. I’ve never had so many envelopes given to me. It must have something to do with being thirty-four.
‘A gift voucher for the store,’ he says before I’ve opened it.
‘Brill,’ says Imogen sarcastically before being nudged by Mak.
‘Well,’ she mutters, ‘they’re trying to buy her silence now.’
Ashby stands at one side of me and Harry the other and I can’t help getting annoyed with Ashby for not saying something.
‘How much is it for?’ Harry asks.
‘Sorry?’ says Nigel.
‘If it’s under thirty quid I’d be inclined to say it was a nice gesture. An unexplained one, but nice, but if it is over fifty quid I’d question the motive and would agree with Imogen that it’s a bribe.’
‘Exactly,’ agrees Imogen.
‘Well said darling,’ says Mak.
‘I wouldn’t accept it,’ says Malcolm.
‘I think it’s for Phoebe to know how much it’s for and whether she wants to accept it,’ Nigel says finally. ‘Phoebe, as you know, we’re looking forward to having you back and …’
‘I’m going to apply for Brian’s job,’ I say.
‘I don’t think …’ he begins.
‘Why don’t you open that?’ says Harry. ‘I somehow think its value is more than thirty quid.’
I rip open the envelope and gasp. It’s a voucher for two hundred pounds.
‘Like I said, a peace offering,’ says Nigel quickly. ‘It was wrong of Henry and I’m very sorry if I offended you also.’
‘At least he’s apologising,’ says Mak.
‘Like I said, we’re very much looking forward to seeing you back at the store,’ says Nigel.
‘Thanks,’ I say.
‘Have a nice birthday evening,’ he says as he turns to the door.
‘Thanks but no thanks, Nigel,’ I say as I hand him the voucher. ‘I’ll see you out.’
‘Thanks for coming,’ I say as we walk down the stairs.
‘Phoebe …’ he begins.
‘I was very flattered by your attention. You’ve no idea. Champagne and cake, well, it was all so lovely until you ruined it …’
‘Phoebe …’
‘The thing is, I know I’m not the only one and if I step down now and accept your very gracious peace offering then I’d be letting other sexually harassed women down wouldn’t I?’
‘Look Phoebe, it wasn’t …’
‘I know. I know it wasn’t like Henry but you still shouldn’t have put me in such an awkward position. You can’t fire me and you can’t stop me applying for Brian’s job, I know that.’
‘You’re entitled to apply for Brian’s position,’ he says, forcing a smile.
‘Thanks for coming Nigel.’
I head back upstairs to my flat. The room is silent.
‘What?’ I ask as I walk back inside.
‘Well done,’ says Ashby.
‘Here’s to your new position,’ says Imogen holding up her glass of orange juice.
At thirty-four things are looking up.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Ashby asked me to go to the Guildhall with him. I can’t believe it. I’d waited weeks to hear this. I’d gone out with all kinds of creeps in an effort to make him jealous and finally he is asking me. Strangely it doesn’t feel at all how I had hoped and on my birthday too. It couldn’t have been a better present.
‘I’m taking this little lady home,’ says Malcolm, nodding to Imogen who has dozed off again.
‘We ought to leave too,’ says Mak drunkenly. ‘I’ll call a cab.’
My head is spinning from too much Prosecco. I think I might have had a couple of beers too. I know I ate far too much cake. My little flat looks like a tip.
‘I’ll help tidy up,’ says Harry. He seems to be the only sober one amongst us.
‘You will come won’t you?’ asks Ashby.
‘Erm …’
Why am I hesitating? This is Ashby and the Guildhall ball. This is what I’ve been dreaming of. It’s just so much has happened since we broke up. It’s hard to think straight when you’re under the influence.
‘I’m a bit wasted actually,’ I say. ‘Can we talk about it tomorrow?’
‘Sure,’ he says but I see disappointment on his face.
‘Do you want to share our cab?’ Mak asks, wrapping a colourful scarf around his neck.
‘Oh, erm …’
Ashby never passes up a chance to save money.
‘Yeah, that’ll be great, thanks.’
I kiss them all goodbye and look around my messy flat. I hear Harry clattering about in the kitchen. I arrange my birthday cards and tidy away the gifts.
‘Do you want a coffee?’ he calls.
‘You don’t have to do this,’ I say. ‘I can clear up in the morning. It’s getting late. I’m sure you want to go home too.’
He wipes his hand on a tea towel and looks strangely sheepish
.
‘I wanted to talk to you actually. Blooms have purchased your flat. Someone is going to phone you in the next few days to discuss your new tenancy agreement.’
I gawp at him and try to get my fuddled brain to work.
‘You came here on my birthday to tell me your father is sending someone to discuss rent with me,’ I say angrily.
He takes a step towards me and I take one back hitting my hip on the door.
‘Bugger,’ I groan.
‘Phoebe, can I explain?’
‘No, I don’t want you to explain. This is my birthday. I don’t want to hear bad news.’
He sighs.
‘I had no intention of spoiling your birthday. I just want to talk to you about this. The thing is, I don’t disagree with you …’
‘I’d like you to leave now,’ I say quietly.
‘Why won’t you ever listen to me? You judge me by what you read on the internet and …’
‘And that makes me an unintelligent woman, remember? I can’t think why you’d even want to talk to such an idiot woman.’
‘Now you’re being melodramatic.’
‘How dare you.’
‘Right, I’ll leave,’ he says, throwing the tea towel on to the drainer.
I hear the door click and feel tears well up. I must not cry on my birthday. I’m not sure why you can’t cry on your birthday but I’m determined not to. Harry’s birthday card catches my eye and I open it.
To Phoebe, my lovely neighbour. Have a fabulous birthday, Lots of love, Harry. x
Well, I won’t be his neighbour for much longer will I? The thing is I love my little flat. I know it’s too small for a dinner party and I can’t really have a big birthday bash here, but who wants that anyway? It’s perfect for me. The rent was perfect too. But the real truth is that I like Harry Bloom more than I should and I hate that he knows that I do. Silly Phoebe, I’m doing it all over again and falling for someone who is not only already taken but is also an arsehole. He’s just another Nigel Taylor-Lynworth. And where was horsy mouth Jilly tonight?
I can’t imagine what the rent is going to be once my flat is part of the Bloom Empire. I just hope I get the manager job and that Harry sodding Bloom moves out. I’m not talking to him again and he can stick those opera tickets up his backside.
Chapter Fifty
I wait outside the studio and check my list. I must make sure to mention Bloom Properties and do my bit for the cause.
