by Rosie Green
‘Of course I have legs.’ I laugh to hide my embarrassment.
‘Yes and they’re stunning.’
‘Don’t be daft.’
‘I’ve only ever seen you in jeans and baggy tops. This is quite a revelation!’ She grins at me.
‘Are you saying I’m normally frumpy?’
‘No, of course not!’ She grimaces. ‘Well, maybe a little. Sometimes. But this just proves you need to start making the most of yourself.’
The doorbell rings and Jaz runs through to answer it. Minutes later, she appears with Harry.
‘What do you think of Fen’s outfit, love?’ Jaz asks him.
Harry looks me up and down, then pulls a really comical face, blowing out his cheeks as if he’s about to explode. ‘Sizzling hot,’ he says.
‘There you go,’ says Jaz triumphantly. ‘Told you so. You’ll be a sensation at that fancy dress do.’
Harry slips an arm around Jaz and grins at me. ‘Do I get an invitation?’
‘Sadly not,’ says Jaz.
He turns and gives her a wicked smile. ‘Wouldn’t mind seeing you in something like that.’
I laugh, looking at the two of them; they seem so comfortable together.
‘Well, actually,’ says Jaz, snuggling closer, ‘I was planning a romantic meal for two tonight. Steak and chips. Your favourite. And you never know, if you play your cards right . . .’ She glances at me and grins. ‘Sorry, Fen!’
I shake my head. ‘Don’t apologise. Just go somewhere else so I can get changed.’
‘So what do you think?’ Jaz murmurs to Harry. ‘Do you want to come over later for that steak? I picked up some holiday brochures we could look at. I know you love Ibiza so I thought we could –’
Harry’s face falls. ‘Ah, sorry, love. Can’t do it, I’m afraid. Greg’s got a problem he needs sorting.’
‘A problem?’
‘Yeah, his – er – spider catcher’s stopped working, so he needs me to go round and fix it.’
She stares at him in confusion. ‘You’re joking, right?’
Harry shakes his head, ‘No, no, deadly serious. The guy freaks out if there’s one in his bath. It’s an emergency.’
He’s already heading for the door.
‘I might pop in later, though,’ he calls, and the door slams behind him.
Jaz looks at me and does a dramatic shrug. ‘See what I mean?’
I shake my head in bewilderment.
*****
On Friday night, I’m a bag of nerves getting ready for the Christmas night out – but I tell myself everyone will be in the same boat. We’re all going to look ridiculous in our fancy dress outfits. That’s the whole point of the evening!
I drive over to Sunnybrook and park outside The Little Duck Pond Café.
I’m planning to get some much needed encouragement from Ellie, perhaps over a quick glass of wine for Dutch courage, before walking over to the Swan Hotel bar and joining everyone there. Ellie has invited me to stay over in their flat above the café so that I can have a drink or two without worrying.
As I get out and lock the car, my heart is already skipping along with a mix of excitement and dread at the thought of walking into that bar, dressed like this, all on my own. Plus there’s been a slight awkwardness between Ellie and me, ever since her comment that I should beware of Ethan. When I asked her about it the other day, she dismissed it as just a throw-away comment and I didn’t pursue it. But the fact that I’ll be seeing Ethan tonight – and Ellie knows that – means I’m feeling slightly defensive when I walk into the cafe.
As soon as she sees me, she grabs a bottle off the counter and holds it aloft. ‘Wine?’
‘Yes, please.’
She brings two glasses of white over to the table and plonks them down, then she collapses into the seat opposite, her face taut with stress. ‘I can’t stand this, Fen. I really can’t. I think I’m going slowly crazy.’ She reaches for her glass and downs a third of it in one long swallow.
‘Is it Sophie?’ I frown at her in sympathy. It’s clear my feelings for Ethan are the least of her worries tonight.
Ellie heaves a despondent sigh. ‘I’ve hardly seen either of them all week. And when I got cross with Maisie the other morning for being naughty, she calmly informed me that Sophie never shouts at her.’ Her face is wreathed in worry. She hasn’t even noticed my outfit, even though I should probably be arrested for indecent exposure, what with the acreage of boob spilling over the tight satin bodice.
‘I’m worried Sophie’s up to no good, Fen.’
‘In what way?’ I ask carefully.
‘She wants Zak back. I’m certain of it. And I think she’s using Maisie as an excuse to get close to him.’ She’s on the verge of tears. ‘Oh, Fen, I don’t think she cares about Maisie at all.’
‘What?’ I stare at her in horror. ‘No way, Ellie. Sophie might be cold, unfriendly and extremely irritating, but she’s not that wicked.’
Ellie just shrugs.
‘You’re over-thinking things,’ I say gently. ‘And I really don’t blame you. But honestly, Ellie, you’re just letting your imagination run away with you. You have to stop torturing yourself. It’s all going to be fine.’
Ellie sighs. ‘But even if Sophie has come back purely for Maisie, what if they have such a great time together that Zak starts to realise he still cares about Sophie?’
‘He won’t. He loves you,’ I tell her firmly.
‘Well, maybe, but if Sophie wants her family back, she’ll be at her most alluring and charming, won’t she? And Zak did love her once, remember. What if all his old feelings for her come flooding back?’
‘They won’t. Trust me, Sophie is history. Zak isn’t going to throw away what he has with you.’
‘But Sophie is Maisie’s real mum.’
‘Well, yes . . .’
‘I just keep thinking Maisie is sure to bond with Sophie. And then Zak will see that and realise they belong together as a proper family.’
‘But you’re a proper family. You, Zak and Maisie. You’ve been a brilliant mum to that little girl. You still are.’
Ellie smiles sadly. ‘Thanks, Fen. That means a lot. But I can’t lie. I’m scared.’
I reach over and cover her hand with mine. ‘I know you are, love. But Zak and Maisie adore you. Anyone can see that. Just have faith, okay?’
She nods, her eyes filling with tears. ‘Coming to Sunnybrook transformed absolutely everything for me. I love my life now. I never dreamed I could be this happy.’ She shrugs. ‘I just can’t help thinking I’ve been living in a fool’s paradise these past six months, since getting together with Zak.’
I shake my head, wishing I could think of some magic words that would take my best friend’s pain away. I really do think she’s letting her imagination run away with her. But maybe I’d be the same in her situation.
A tear slides down her face. ‘Oh, Fen, I can’t lose them now!’
CHAPTER EIGHT
Walking through the hotel entrance half an hour later, all my thoughts are with Ellie and her stricken face before I left. Knowing how bad she’s feeling has certainly put my own worries into perspective. Braving the bar in my pole-dancing outfit seems very trivial by comparison.
I wanted to stay with Ellie and help her drink the rest of the bottle, but she was insistent I should go.
‘You can’t miss it,’ she told me firmly. ‘Go and have a great time. We can talk later.’
The reception area of the Swan Hotel is warm and welcoming with winking fairy lights and a tall, lavishly decorated Christmas tree by the window.
A girl behind the desk looks up. ‘Good evening. And Merry Christmas,’ she says with a smile, acknowledging my fancy dress outfit. ‘Can I help?’
‘I’m with the amateur dramatics group. Are they in the bar?’ I point in the direction.
‘Oh.’ She looks a little surprised. ‘Er, yes, through there.’ She smiles. ‘I hope you have a lovely evening.’
‘
Thank you.’ I pull up my bodice, smooth down the skirt, wishing it was just a teeny bit longer, then I take a deep breath and head for the bar.
I’ve been here a few times before. It’s an L-shaped room and when I walk in, I’m faced with a lot of empty tables. My group must be sitting round the corner, although it strikes me as odd that I can’t actually hear much chattering. Perhaps no one’s arrived yet.
It would be good if I were one of the first here because if I’m already sitting down when the rest arrive, my costume might not seem quite so over-the-top and showy. I’m looking forward to seeing what everyone else –
Rounding the corner, I stop short in confusion.
The cast all seem to be there. They’ve pulled four or five tables together and they’re all sitting with drinks in front of them, looking quite sombre.
Karen is the first to see me.
Her face is an absolute picture of amazement. As well it might be.
‘Hi, Fen. Oh, wow. Look at you! Gosh, erm, why don’t you come and sit over here?’ She indicates the chair next to her.
I can’t actually move. Some mysterious force seems to be welding my feet to the floor, as a great wash of heat rolls up my entire body.
What the hell is going on?
‘Doesn’t she look fab everybody?’ Karen pats the seat again and glances around with a big beam, as if it’s perfectly normal for me to arrive looking like a complete slapper - when absolutely no one else is wearing fancy dress!
I’m aware of several cast members quickly modifying their expressions, from open-mouthed amazement to pasted-on smiles.
Ethan catches my eye. ‘Very nice, Fen.’ He nods slowly, trailing his eyes from my abundance of cleavage all the way down my body, via the terrible fishnets, to the your-place-or-mine white heels Jaz unearthed from her wardrobe.
I just want to curl up in shame. Or better still, run out of the room and flee the building. But obviously I can’t do that. I have to say something . . .
‘Gosh, everyone looks so solemn,’ I blurt out with a bright smile. ‘Has someone died? Ha-ha-ha!’
There’s a tense silence.
Did I imagine the sudden communal intake of breath?
I stare around in confusion. Then everyone starts talking at once and I slip gratefully into the seat beside Karen.
‘Actually, someone did die,’ murmurs a voice in my ear, making me jump.
It’s Cressida, sitting on my other side.
I stare at her in alarm. ‘What? Who?’
‘Angus Merriweather,’ says Karen. ‘The guy who started up the am dram group back in the seventies. He was a lovely man. A real character. He died a few weeks ago and made provision in his will for us all to go out and toast his memory.’ She smiles. ‘Which is exactly what we’re doing tonight.’
It takes a moment for this to sink in. And when it does, my stomach churns with horror at what I said. Did someone die? God, the shame!
Then I whip round to Cressida. ‘But I thought you said . . .’
Folding her arms, she gives me a look that’s all innocence.
And in a flash, I understand.
Cressida set me up!
It’s so obvious now I think about it. And I can detect a definite whiff of triumph beneath that apparently innocent look of hers.. . .
I remember Ethan pointing at me and Cressida nodding and walking over to tell me the arrangements for Friday night. Except she didn’t tell me the truth – that it’s practically a bloody wake for this poor man, Angus Merriweather. And then I turn up looking like the stag-do entertainment . . .
A shiver of unease runs through me.
Cressida must dislike me very much, although I can’t for the life of me imagine why.
‘So why the outfit, Fen?’ asks Karen. ‘I must say, it does look fabulous on you.’
‘Er, thanks,’ I mumble, aware other people are listening in curiously but pretending not to. ‘I . . . er . . . I’m going on to a party after this. Fancy dress. Obviously.’
‘Oh, great. Lucky you. Come on, let’s get you a drink – courtesy of lovely Angus!’
I’d planned to drink spritzers all night but standing at the bar with Karen, I decide I need something stronger to take the edge of my humiliation.
I usually steer clear of spirits. Once, years ago, under the influence of many vodkas, someone dared me to slink over and say, ‘Hey, sexy’ to the next male who came into the bar. So apparently I did (I have only a hazy memory of it.) Unfortunately, he turned out to be the sweaty, balding middle-aged man who ran the newsagent’s in Sunnybrook.
Even now, he gives me a leery smile whenever he sees me. (I ordered my magazines on-line after that night).
This, however, is an emergency.
‘Vodka and tonic, please,’ I say firmly.
Karen smiles. ‘A double?’
‘Please.’
Leery man was years ago. I’ll be able to handle my drink now. I’m absolutely sure of it.
And actually, the alcohol definitely helps. By the time I’m half-way down my glass, a lovely warm relaxed feeling is spreading through my limbs and I’m chatting away with Karen, Rosalind and Helen, who plays Cinderella’s step-mother.
I’m having such a good time, I’m not even too bothered that Cressida is monopolising Ethan’s attention. She’s squeezed herself next to him on a banquette and is trying to engage him in an intense discussion, ignoring everyone else and managing to look stunning even with her mouth in a sulky pout most of the time.
I get the feeling Ethan feels a little embarrassed by Cressida’s attentions. He’s sitting with his arms folded and listening politely. But whenever I glance over, he catches my eye and manages to convey, with just a tiny movement of his lips, that his patience is wearing thin.
Every time our eyes collide and hold, a little shiver of pleasure wriggles through me.
An hour or so (and three double vodkas) later, I’m feeling nicely mellow. The alcohol has loosened my tongue but in a good way, in that I’m chatting freely to people and not holding back for fear of being boring as I usually do.
I’m still sitting with Karen and the others and we’re having a hilarious discussion about past relationships. Then I offer to get the next round in.
I’m sitting on a stool at the bar, having ordered - and woozily thinking I’d like to have met Angus Merriweather because he sounds so lovely – when suddenly, Ethan plops down on the stool next to me.
‘Where’s the barman?’ he asks.
‘Gone to get fresh supplies of tonic water for my vodka.’
He grins. ‘So you’re drinking the bar dry. I hope that means you’re having a good time?’ he says, and my stomach swoops with desire as he shifts round on his stool so that he’s facing me, his legs brushing mine. He leans one arm on the bar and looks deep into my eyes.
‘I’m having a lovely time, thank you.’ I smile happily at him.
‘Shame you have to leave us.’
His words don’t register for a moment. I’m too busy drinking in his gorgeous features and deliciously spicy cologne, both of which are suddenly so tantalisingly close.
Finally, his words percolate through to my brain. Why does he think I’m leaving?
I stare at him, confused. Am I being sacked from the am dram club? What did I do wrong?
He smiles. ‘The party you’re going on to?’
It takes a moment for my vodka-soaked brain to process this.
‘Ah yes, the party.’
He leans closer. ‘Can I let you into a secret?’ His breath tickles my ear deiciously.
I nod solemnly and he smiles.
‘I was rather hoping you might decide to stay here instead.’
I swallow hard. ‘You were?’
‘I was. Although I must admit I’m very grateful to whoever gave you this party invitation.’
I laugh. ‘Why?’
He shrugs. ‘You wouldn’t have come in fancy dress otherwise. And I have to say I’ve never in my life laid eyes on such
a sexy Christmas pudding.’
I giggle happily at the idea as his handsome face swims in front of me. I’m mesmerised by his gorgeous dark eyes and sensuous mouth.
Ethan thinks I’m a sexy Christmas pudding!
I give silent thanks to Jaz who got me this killer outfit. I’ll bake her some of her favourite Chelsea buns as a reward.
Suddenly remembering the rest of the group, I glance back quickly, knowing beady-eyed Cressida will be watching us like a hawk. But then I realise the bar is round the corner and our tables are hidden from view.
‘I’m really glad you joined us tonight, Fen.’ Ethan gazes at me with a wistful expression that makes my heart leap. ‘You know, I miss being in a relationship and doing all those romantic little things like running my lover a bath or massaging her feet. Or treating her to something special like a pampering session or dinner for two at our favourite restaurant.’ He shrugs sheepishly. ‘Daft, I know.’
‘It’s not daft at all,’ I tell him earnestly, trying to steer my mind away from the thought of Ethan massaging my feet. But of course that’s like telling someone not to think about a purple elephant. Suddenly it’s practically all I can think about!
‘I suppose I’ve got to a place in my life where I feel like I want to settle down.’ He smiles deep into my eyes and my stomach flips. ‘I’ve never felt like that before now. But perhaps I just never met the right person before now.’
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly as dry as the inside of a hoover bag.
‘I really like you, Fen,’ he murmurs, gazing at me with an intensity that makes my head spin away to the moon with delight. ‘We need to get together soon. Just you and me.’
‘That would be lovely,’ I murmur, my heart leaping like an Irish dancer. I’d thought he’d forgotten about his offer to take me out. But clearly, he hadn’t.
‘Let’s arrange something on Sunday after the meeting?’ he says.
I nod happily, imagining what Lucinda Loveday (my all-time favourite heroine in a novel) would say to the ruggedly handsome Jed Rock in similar circumstances. But that might be a tad too raunchy for the bar of The Swan Hotel. So instead, I say as calmly as I can, ‘That would be wonderful. I’m free every day after six, except Saturdays when I could do five at a pinch – ’
