by Jill Mansell
Let’s face it, when you were a manky-lunged twenty-eight-year-old perilously close to your sell-by date . . . well, you weren’t exactly overwhelmed with lustful attention from the opposite sex.
‘What are you thinking?’ said Luke.
Ha, no chance.
‘Just wondering what I’d look like if I was eighty-three. I really hope I wouldn’t wear wrinkly old tights and ugly slippers.’
‘Me too. Especially the tights.’ As he said it, they both heard the sound of rapid clattery footsteps on the pavement outside. The next moment the doorbell rang: DINGDINGDINGDINGDINNGGG . . .
Hallie pressed the intercom. ‘Hello?’
‘Happy new yeeeeear! It’s us! Are you asleep?’
‘Well I was, but some idiots just rang the doorbell.’
‘Let us in! Let us in!’
‘Is this how old people feel when their noisy grandchildren come to visit?’ Luke’s tone was dry as they listened to what sounded like a herd of cows galloping up the stairs.
‘It’s worse. Noisy grandchildren haven’t usually downed seven pints of cider and a load of shots.’
‘Ta-daaah!’ The door flew open and six of her friends burst into the room. Bea, swaying on her high heels, held her arms out wide. ‘You said you’d come back to the party and you didn’t! So we thought we’d bring the party to you! Happy new yeeeeeaar!’
When she’d hugged and kissed everyone, Hallie said, ‘There’s wine in the fridge downstairs if you want to go and get it. And more glasses in the cupboard next to the sink.’
‘Why’s Luke here? Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine. He’s just been keeping me company. We watched the fireworks together.’
‘And I’d better be going.’ Luke rose to his feet. ‘I’m still on call. Getting a couple of hours’ sleep might be an idea.’
‘Bye. Thanks.’ Hallie gave a little wave while her stomach did a secret backflip. ‘See you again soon.’
‘Oh, you opened it!’ Bea had spotted the mini bottle of Moët. ‘And it’s empty – you drank it all!’
Confused, Hallie said, ‘Was it not meant to be drunk?’
‘It was really expensive,’ Bea wailed. ‘You were supposed to save it for a special occasion!’
‘Sorry.’ Hallie loved Bea to bits, even if she did sometimes fail to think things through. Because who knows how many special occasions some of us have left?
‘That’s OK, I forgive you. Don’t do it again, though.’ As Luke attempted to squeeze past her, Bea’s arm shot out, barring his exit. ‘Hey-hey-hey, not so fast, Dr Hilton. I think there’s something important you’re forgetting, don’t you?’
‘What?’ Luke looked baffled.
‘This!’ Throwing both arms around his neck, Bea planted a kiss on his unsuspecting mouth, and this time Hallie’s stomach did a much bigger and frankly jealous triple somersault.
‘Mwah.’ Beaming and swaying, Bea let him go. ‘Happy new year. Sorry, just had to do that! Couldn’t resist!’
Chapter 8
‘Look at this.’ Rory showed Tasha the text that had just come through on his phone: Mate, where are you? You’re missing a bloody brilliant party. Get yourself down here NOW!!!
‘Who’s it from?’
‘My oldest friend, Joe. Now watch this.’
Tasha watched as he began to compose his reply. It was five o’clock in the morning, and she was still struggling to believe the last seven hours had actually happened. What she’d expected to be an entirely uneventful New Year’s Eve had turned out to be the most eventful, most extraordinary, most utterly magical one ever. She felt as if she were in a dream.
OK, this really had better not be a dream. That would be too cruel.
Superstitiously, she pinched her left wrist, just to make sure. Ow, good.
Rory finished writing the text and angled the phone so she could read it: Joe, I’m not missing out on anything. I’m with an amazing, incredible girl. This is it, she’s the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. Will you be my best man?
Every centimetre of Tasha’s skin tingled as she read it. OK, the best man bit was a joke . . . maybe the third sentence was a joke too, but that didn’t matter. It was enough that he thought she was amazing and incredible.
Aloud, she said, ‘You’re going to frighten the life out of him.’
‘True.’ Rory pressed send.
‘Poor Joe.’
‘And I meant it.’ He looked at her. ‘In case you were wondering.’
‘You did?’ Zinnnggg . . .
‘Every word. I don’t even know how I know. I just know.’
‘Men don’t usually come out and say that kind of stuff.’
‘I know.’ His eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘I’ve never done anything like this before in my life. I can’t believe it isn’t freaking me out.’
His phone beeped and together they read Joe’s text: Shit, are you completely smashed? Do you need rescuing?
Rory messaged back: Haven’t had anything to drink. Definitely don’t need rescuing.
Less than twenty seconds later, his mobile rang.
‘Here we go.’ Rory switched on speakerphone so she could hear it too. ‘Brace yourself.’
Tasha clutched his hand. ‘I’m braced.’
‘Oh man, what is going on?’ Joe’s voice was raised over the noise of the party continuing in the background.
‘Like I told you,’ said Rory. ‘It’s happened. I found her.’
‘Found her where? And who the hell is she? Are you telling me this is someone you just met tonight? Have you had sex with her yet?’
OK, slightly embarrassing.
‘No,’ said Rory. ‘I haven’t.’
‘Ha! So, are you even sure she’s female?’
Rory mouthed, Sorry at Tasha, who nodded reassuringly and mouthed back, I am female.
‘I’m pretty sure she is. Joe, listen, it’s the one I told you about. From last week. I found her again.’
There was a long silence. For several seconds, all they could hear in the background was music and laughter from the party. Then Joe said, ‘You mean Bin Girl?’
Tasha looked at Rory. Bin Girl? Oh, the glamour . . .
‘Yes.’ Rory grimaced apologetically. ‘Her name’s Tasha.’
‘And you found her again. How?’
‘I staked out the airport until she came home. Didn’t have to wait long,’ said Rory. ‘Only fourteen hours.’
‘You hung out at the airport for fourteen hours? You’re mad.’
‘No I’m not. It’s the best thing I ever did.’
‘You’re still missing a cracking party. And she’s there with you now?’
‘She is.’
‘Let me speak to her.’
Rory handed over the phone.
‘Hi, Joe,’ said Tasha. ‘It’s me, Bin Girl.’
He laughed. ‘Hey, Bin Girl. What the hell have you done to my boy?’
‘I have no idea. It’s been quite a night.’
‘And you’re not a bloke?’
‘Definitely not a bloke.’
‘Any other guilty secrets you might want to share with me? It’s OK, I won’t breathe a word.’
‘Do you promise?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘OK. I do have a secret,’ said Tasha.
‘Six kids? Scary husband? Serious drug habit?’
‘Nope.’
‘Go ahead then. Tell me,’ said Joe.
‘I think I’ve found the man I’ve been waiting for.’ As she said the words, Tasha’s gaze met Rory’s and a smile spread across his face.
‘Ah Jesus, you’re a pair of hopeless cases, both as bad as each other.’ With mock disgust, Joe said, ‘I’m going to leave you to it and head back to the party. Happy new year, Bin Girl.’
Tasha grinned. ‘Thanks, Joe. You too.’
Chapter 9
‘This is scary,’ said Tasha. ‘I can’t believe how nervous I am.’
‘I know.’ Rory held her han
d under the table. ‘Me too. It’s never bothered me before.’ He took another drink. ‘Basically because it didn’t matter.’
The door to the pub swung open and Tasha’s fingers tightened around his. ‘OK, here we go. Here’s Carmel now.’
It was like a cross between a fait accompli and a really important job interview. Falling in love with Rory had been the easy bit; now they had to meet each other’s best friends and hope that went well too. Everyone knew there was nothing worse than your oldest friends not getting on with your new partner. Occasionally they couldn’t stand them. And sometimes the best friends downright hated each other too.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time to get the whole thing over with in one go. It was now eight o’clock in the evening on Wednesday the third of January, and Rory had arranged for Joe to meet them here at the Frog and Shovel in Hampstead. Tasha had done the same with Carmel. Talk about kill or cure; it was either going to go brilliantly or turn into the night of a thousand knives.
Tasha rose to her feet and waved, and Carmel made her way over towards them. Then the door opened again and Rory said, ‘Well that’s a first; Joe’s turned up on time too.’
Carmel was tall and narrow-hipped, with a curtain of Scandinavian white-blond hair falling down her back; she wore black flicky eyeliner, pale pinky-beige lipstick and an impractical cream coat over jeans and a black sweater. They’d been best friends since school and had met all of each other’s boyfriends over the years, with varying degrees of success.
Tasha mentally crossed her fingers that this evening’s meet-up would go well. She couldn’t think, offhand, of any reason why Carmel might not like Rory, but you never knew; before now, Carmel had taken against one boyfriend purely because she didn’t like the way he stroked his chin. But that had been Colin, who’d turned out to be a complete dick anyway. And to be fair, Tasha remembered, she’d once had a similarly strong aversion to one of Carmel’s boyfriends because he’d worn Cornish-pasty-style shoes.
Honestly, between the two of them and their peccadilloes, was it any wonder she was nervous?
The four of them sat down, everyone was introduced – ‘Hello, Bin Girl!’ – drinks were ordered and the serious business of getting to know each other began.
‘So you must be incredibly sporty.’ Kicking off proceedings, Joe turned to Tasha. ‘What are you into? Snowboarding? Paragliding? Marathon running?’
Carmel spluttered with laughter. ‘You’re asking Tasha? Marathon lying down, more like. Marathon TV watching with a packet of crisps—’
‘OK,’ Tasha hastily cut in, ‘that’s enough.’
‘Ha ha.’ Carmel’s eyes danced. ‘I’m just trying to imagine you being sporty.’
‘No, but seriously.’ Joe was looking genuinely taken aback. ‘You must do something.’
Tasha shrugged. ‘I do plenty. Just not necessarily . . . those kinds of things.’ Was this going to put him off her?
‘Do you swim?’
‘I can swim. I prefer to sunbathe. I’ll jump into the water to cool down, but I wouldn’t do fifty lengths of the pool.’
‘Did you know about this?’ Joe switched his attention to Rory.
‘Yes, she told me.’
‘And?’
Rory shrugged. ‘It’s fine.’
‘So let me get this straight. You’re an adrenalin junkie.’ Joe tapped his friend on the forearm. ‘A non-stop action man. And you’re completely crazy about this girl here, but she’s inaction girl.’ He tilted his head apologetically in Tasha’s direction. ‘No offence, I’m sure you’re a lovely person, but you’re not remotely sporty and you don’t do any of the stuff Rory likes doing.’ The look on his face was frankly dubious as he sat back and took a gulp of his pint.
‘Hey,’ Carmel said heatedly, leaping to Tasha’s defence. ‘Why are you making it sound like it’s all her fault? Is your precious friend interested in literary festivals and art galleries and Ancient Egypt? No, I’m guessing he probably isn’t, but that doesn’t make him a lesser person, or a better one. They’re just different. Opposites attract, OK? And these two opposites are attracted to each other.’ Her gaze narrowed. ‘So we’re just going to have to make the best of it.’
Oh dear, imminent warfare.
‘Where did that come from?’ Joe was instantly on the defensive. ‘You were the one who started it,’ he pointed out, ‘making fun of her marathon TV watching.’
‘Tasha’s my oldest friend.’ Carmel gave him a withering, don’t-you-understand? look. ‘I’m allowed to make fun of her. You don’t get to do that until you’ve known her a lot longer than this, OK?’
For a few seconds they glared at each other. Finally Joe said, ‘When, then?’
‘Another year,’ said Carmel. ‘At least.’
He shook his head. ‘No way. I can’t wait that long. At the rate these two have been carrying on, they could be married with kids by then.’
Tasha held her breath. Imagine . . .
‘Just be nice to my friend, that’s all I’m saying.’ Carmel still had the proprietorial light of combat about her. ‘Or you’ll have me to answer to.’
‘Right.’ Joe raised his hands in defeat. ‘I’m sorry, OK? God, you’re terrifying.’ But there was a twinkle in his eye as he said it. Returning his attention to Tasha, he added, ‘Bin Girl, I apologise, OK? Most sincerely.’
‘And don’t call her Bin Girl any more either.’
‘Actually,’ said Tasha, ‘I’m starting to quite like it.’
Joe said solemnly, ‘You’ll always be Bin Girl to me.’
‘So how would we say this is going, then?’ Rory enquired.
‘They want us to get on well together,’ Joe told Carmel. ‘It means a lot to them.’
‘You’re right.’ Carmel nodded. ‘We should probably be nice to each other, for their sakes.’
‘Give us a kiss then,’ said Joe.
He’d been joking, but Carmel reached across the table, grabbed his face between her hands and fastened her lips on his.
‘Blimey,’ said Joe when she let him go and sat back in her chair. ‘Well, that defused the sexual tension.’
Carmel grinned. ‘There is no sexual tension. I don’t fancy you one bit and you don’t fancy me. But I like you. I think we can be friends, don’t you?’
Tasha hid a smile as Joe, still knocked for six by the kiss, raked his rugby player’s fingers through his tufty reddish-gold hair. ‘We could probably manage that. Uhh . . . those eyelashes of yours. Are they real?’
‘Of course they’re not real, you plank. Even a monkey could tell they were fake.’
‘And are you always this polite?’
‘I like to call it refreshingly frank,’ said Carmel.
‘You’re certainly that.’ Joe raised his glass and clinked it against hers. ‘Cheers, Frank.’
‘Cheers. Will I like your friend Rory, do you think?’
‘I can’t see why you wouldn’t. He’s a good guy.’
‘Ah, but will he break my friend’s heart?’
‘Hello, excuse me?’ Tasha cleared her throat. ‘We are here, you know. Within . . . what’s it called? Oh yes, earshot.’
Joe and Carmel completely ignored her. ‘Honestly?’ said Joe. ‘Well, he’s had his share of girls and played his share of games in the past. But the way he’s been talking about this one . . . she’s definitely in a whole different league. I’ve never seen him like this before.’
‘If he gives her any grief,’ Carmel said pointedly, ‘he’ll have me to answer to.’
His breath warm on her cheek, Rory murmured in Tasha’s ear, ‘I wasn’t planning on giving you any grief.’
‘Just as well.’ Tasha was tingling all over at his proximity. ‘Carmel has a black belt in karate.’
Overhearing this, Joe turned and regarded Carmel with new respect. ‘You do? Wow.’
‘I can be quite annoying,’ said Carmel. ‘It makes sense to be able to defend myself.’
‘Ha.’ He was clearly impres
sed. ‘I have a feeling you’d win.’
‘Oh yes.’ Carmel crossed her long legs and surveyed him with cool amusement. ‘I always do.’
Was she being deliberately ambiguous? Most probably. Tasha watched as Joe, caught off guard, visibly wondered the same thing. After a second or two, he turned to her and said, ‘How about you then, Bin Girl? Are you a martial artist too?’
‘I’m a make-up artist.’ Tasha added flippantly, ‘If anyone tried to attack me, I’d jab them in the eye with a mascara brush.’
Twenty minutes later, Rory and Joe went over to queue at the bar for more drinks.
The moment they were alone, Tasha said, ‘They’ll be talking about us now.’
‘That’s OK. We’re going to be talking about them too.’
‘And?’ Tasha had been bursting to know. ‘What’s the verdict?’
‘I like him! He’s great.’ Carmel’s eyes were bright. ‘I really like him a lot.’
‘I knew it, I knew it, I’m so glad!’ Phew. Beaming with relief, Tasha said, ‘Thank goodness for that. And how about Joe?’
‘Oh.’ Carmel looked confused. ‘I thought we were talking about Joe.’
‘No, you dingbat! Never mind him – I want to know what you think of Rory!’
Carmel shrugged. ‘Well, I like him too. He’s really nice. Good-looking, fun, I can see why you’re so keen . . .’
‘But,’ Tasha prompted, feeling sick. ‘There’s a but coming. Tell me what it is.’
‘Oh come on, you already know what it is. Don’t look at me like that . . . oh please, not the Bambi eyes. But Joe said it too, didn’t he?’ Carmel lowered her voice. ‘I know you’re crazy about each other and it’s all new and exciting, but the two of you are kind of polar opposites. All those extreme sports he’s addicted to . . . I mean, it’s not as if you’re ever going to do anything like that.’
‘Does it really matter? You said opposites attract.’ The panicky sensation was rising up inside her ribcage now; she had been working so hard to keep it squashed down. ‘People don’t have to be exactly like each other to make a good couple . . . we laugh at married people who wear matching outfits and end up turning into one person . . .’
