by Mo Fanning
‘I’ll have a dry white wine and Lisa is on vodka,’ Sharon says.
I get down from my stool. ‘Actually I was about to go home.’
Sharon’s not having a bar of it.
‘Brian’s very kindly offered to part with some of his huge pay packet to treat two impoverished box office types. It’d be rude not to accept.’
I give a resigned smile and hold up my empty glass.
‘Let’s find a table,’ Sharon says and leaves Brian to order.
‘So what have you heard about him and Nina?’ she says when we sit.
‘As far as I know they were just friends.’
‘I’ve heard The Rottweiler is divorcing him. Chucked him out and put all his clothes in bin bags. He’s staying in some seedy hotel.’
‘The Travel Lodge is hardly seedy,’ I say without thinking.
‘How do you know where he’s staying?’
Shit! How exactly do I know? Oh that’s right, he told me over lunch in the Laurel Tree, in between telling me about how he was trapped in a loveless marriage with a woman who still talked to her dead child. Now I remember.
‘I heard Angela gossiping,’ I say. ‘She might be wrong.’
‘You know something don’t you?’
‘What?’
‘You went to their house last week for dinner. A couple of days later Audrey chucks him out. You must have noticed something was going on.’
Brian puts down our drinks and lets me off the hook, but Sharon’s expression assures me the conversation is far from over.
‘So what brings you two out on a Monday evening?’ he says.
‘I’m having an hour off from married life and she’s having time off being an old maid,’ Sharon says and holds up her drink. ‘Cheers.’
We clink glasses.
‘Actually that’s not true, I love married life,’ she says, ‘and what about you? What brings you here? Won’t Audrey be worried about where you’ve got to?’
‘I doubt she’s even giving me a second thought,’ he says with a simple shrug. ‘Lisa can tell you. The state of my marriage is hardly what you might call harmonious, is it?’
I want the ground to swallow me. Brian’s eyes appear glazed. This isn’t his first drink.
‘Really?’ Sharon says, determined to dig deeper.
‘You can tell her,’ Brian slurs. ‘I’ve got no secrets from my staff. I am an open book.’
‘I really must go to the loo,’ I say and run for the door, before Sharon has a chance to offer to join me.
Away from the others, I call Andy’s mobile.
‘Come and rescue me. I’m in the Stage Door with Sharon and Brian. It isn’t going well.’
‘Oh Lisa! Can’t you sort this out yourself ? I’m on a date.’
‘I need your help.’
‘You’re a big girl, you can look after yourself.’
‘I know about the Armchair Bride stuff.’
‘Oh! Well, sorry about that. It sort of slipped out.’
‘To everyone within a six mile radius of the theatre?’
‘You know how chatty I can be.’
‘You owe me.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Payback time is now.’
‘But I’m supposed to be meeting Gerry from Feast of Eden. He promised he’d show me how to butter baps.’
‘I’m not in a good place right now, so smutty jokes don’t help.’
‘Oh very well, I’ll be there in ten minutes. But only for one drink, then you have to come with me and apologise to Gerry.’
‘Just get here.’
I hang up as Sharon barges in.
‘That was Andy,’ I say. ‘Said he’s cooked dinner.’
‘I wondered where you’d gone,’ she said. ‘Brian’s in a right state. It’s solid gold some of the stuff he’s coming out with.’
‘It feels a bit mean to let him talk like that.’
‘When did you get a conscience?’
‘I know how it feels to split up with someone. He probably doesn’t want to talk about it.’
‘Gavin, right?’
Sharon hands me the perfect get out. I grab it with both hands.
‘Yes, I suppose so. Seeing Brian like that, reminded me of how I was back then. Denying it hurt, having a laugh when all I wanted to do was scream the place down.’
‘I’m sorry. I should have known.’ Sharon hugs me. ‘You go back out there and get to work changing the subject. I’ll be with you in a minute.’
‘Andy’s coming to rescue me.’
‘Good plan. I’ll escape with you. Nothing worse than a maudlin man, especially when it’s your boss.’
She grins and lets herself into a cubicle. I wash my hands, check my hair and take a deep breath.
Back at the table, Brian is slumped over his drink, but as I sit down, he looks up and belches.
‘Oops, sorry, Lisa. Not very polite of me.’
‘That’s OK.’
‘Sorry about before as well.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Making a bit of a twat of myself in front of Susan.’
‘Her name’s Sharon and don’t worry about it.’
‘But I do worry. I worry what people think. I worry what you think.’
He stares and I don’t know what to say.
‘You’ve had too much to drink. Shall I get someone to call you a cab?’
‘It’s still early. We could go out somewhere. I owe you dinner.’
‘It might be best if you go home.’
‘Home? Where exactly is that. She’s chucked me out. So what are you suggesting? Should I go back to the Travel Lodge and spend the night in my sad little room watching the porn channel?’
I’ve never seen this side of Brian. After lunch the other day and now this, I don’t know him at all.
Sharon returns and Brian grabs her hand.
‘Lisa here thinks it’s time for me to go, but I want to get us all one more round of drinks first. You don’t mind do you?’
She looks at me for an answer and I shrug, unable to force her to be the bad guy and break up the party.
‘Whatever,’ she says and he struggles to his feet to sway to the bar.
‘He is absolutely wasted,’ she says.
‘That’s what I was trying to tell him.’
‘We’ll make this our last one and then get him into a taxi.’
‘Right. Andy will be here soon.’
‘He can help us carry him.’
“He won’t be much use, his arm is in plaster.’
‘Why? What happened?’
‘Long story.’
‘Does it involve a man?’
‘Yes and a wardrobe.’
‘Best I don’t know. Speak of the devil.’
Andy drops his coat onto a chair and looks around. ‘Where’s the boss?’
‘He’s insisted on getting another drink,’ I say. ‘Quick, see if you can get to the bar and stop him so we can go.’
‘Is he very drunk?’
‘Off his face.’
‘Fabulous.’
Andy calls across the bar to Brian. ‘Pint of lager and a double whiskey chaser for me, gorgeous!’
Brian grins and waves. I fume.
‘How is the lovely Bethany?’ he says and Sharon rummages in her bag for a photo. I look up to see Brian struggle to balance a tray of drinks.
‘Here we go,’ he says. ‘Pint and a chaser for Adam, wine for the yummy mummy, a huge fuck-off whiskey for moi and last but by no means least a vodka and tonic for the Armchair Bride.’
Everyone stops talking and guilty looks are exchanged. Even my boss a
ppears to know I’m an antisocial freak who spends her every waking hour tracking down classmates and fretting about the ticking of her biological clock. Sharon finds something interesting on the carpet and even Andy appears embarrassed.
‘Well, cheers everyone,’ Brian says and downs his whiskey in one.
‘Whoops, best get another, greedy me,’ he giggles and is off again to the bar.
‘Shouldn’t we say something, tell him he’s had enough?’ Sharon says.
‘Why not tell him the Armchair Bride thinks he’s had enough?’ I say.
‘Oh yeah, well about that.’ Sharon stares at the carpet again. ‘It sort of slipped out at the New Year’s Eve thing.’
‘What, you’d all had a few drinks and all of a sudden the topic of me being single came up?’
‘He said it.’ Sharon points at Andy.
‘It seemed funny at the time. And I’m sorry but there are worse things to be called.’ Andy makes his defence.
I put down my drink and pick up my bag and coat. ‘Lisa I’m sorry,’ he says.
‘Just leave me alone. I’m going home. You go see if you can find someone else to bore the arse off with tales of how you’re this great actor waiting to be discovered. I’m sick of hearing it. And you, Sharon, I thought we were friends. I expected better of you. Maybe I do spend too much time on-line with old friends, but at least none of them have stabbed me in the back.’
They both go to say something, but I’m away, propelled by self-righteous indignation. As I storm past the bar, someone grabs my arm - Brian, blissfully unaware of the situation he ignited.
‘Off already?’ he says. ‘Was it something I said?’
‘Actually, Brian, it was.’
He looks shocked. He’s probably never seen me like this. Boss or no boss, I’m furious and don’t give a stuff. I shake my arm free, stomp out of the bar and wave down a cab, half hoping Andy or Sharon or even Brian might run after me to tell me to stop being so silly.
Now I’ve had my moment, my anger subsides.
‘Where to love?’ the driver says.
I look behind me one more time and get in.
In our flat, I check the machine certain by now someone will have called to say sorry. There’s a message waiting. I hit play.
‘Hello. This is a message for Lisa Doyle. This is Helen I’m sorry to ring up out of the blue like this. I hope you’re OK, I feel so guilty about not calling sooner and sending you an email with my big news. Anyway, the reason I’m calling is because I want to ask you a big favour. You are still the one person I can truly call a friend, so would you be my matron of honour? Say you will. I don’t know who else to ask. Certainly none of the bitches from school, and although I get on great with the girls at work, I’m not that close to anyone. I’d still rather ask you. After all, you’ve been through the whole wedding thing recently, so you’re not only the obvious choice, but you’re an expert, the other thing is, as matron of honour, you need to….’
The machine cuts her off. I already know what she was about to say.
‘Organise the hen night.’ I say out loud.
A day that started badly grew gradually worse and ended with a silly argument. Now fate has conspired to potentially make me look even more of a fool. What the hell do I know about hen parties?
What does she mean about me recently going through the whole wedding thing? The last person I know who got married is Sharon. She didn’t even have a hen night and the wedding itself was a low-key registry office affair. All I was called upon to do was act as witness. Then it dawns on me. Helen’s obviously checked on PlaceTheirFace and seen my recent shift from single to newly-wed. After all in two years a lot can happen. Helen got engaged and it isn’t beyond believable I could have married. But wouldn’t she be angry at me for not telling her first? I consider calling her back to encourage her to take exception to my getting hitched in secret. It might encourage her to withdraw my invite. Then I remember. I’m not actually married to anyone. I’m just the Armchair Bride. How do you tell someone who is supposed to be a mate you’ve made up a husband so she ends up looking like the loser?
My God, but I’m pathetic sometimes.
I go into the kitchen, pull open the fridge and grab the bottle of posh champagne that Andy and I liberated from an after-show party. It’s good stuff that we’ve been saving for a special occasion.
Tonight feels special enough.
Ten
I pay for my binge with the type of headache that makes me consider spending the morning getting my affairs in order, in case I don’t see out the day. On the bus ride into work I shade my eyes from low winter sun.
‘Christ you look rough,’ says Stage Door Paul.
Angela is next in line to extend my torment. ‘Bloody hell,’ she says. ‘What happened to you?’
‘Fuck me, you must have had a good night,’ says Bryn, the new boy on the counter, who’s proved to be a tad too cocky for my liking. Only two weeks earlier, he sat before me tongue-tied and simpering as I interviewed him for the job.
I take off my coat, grab my bag and head to the loo.
Mirror, mirror on the wall.
My colleagues spoke nothing but the truth. I left home hoping for the best and now it’s clear I only made up half of my face and forgot to do anything with my hair.
The door to the ladies opens and Sharon takes one look before laughing. ‘Crikey, Lisa, you don’t do things by half, do you?’
I want to hold a grudge, but in the painful light of day and with barely enough functioning brain cells to regulate breathing, I let resentment go and laugh too.
‘I’m so sorry about last night,’ I say when I get my breath back. ‘I was being a twat. I’d had a hellish day and I suppose I needed someone to blame.’
‘We all have those sorts of days.’
‘So we’re still friends?’
‘Of course.’
She studies my face. ‘Do you want to borrow some slap?’
‘I’ll take anything you’ve got,’ I say and set about making myself look at least part way human.
‘Andy was mortified, you know.’
‘Why?’ I say.
‘Well, he was the one who started it all.’
‘It’ll do him good to stew. I wish he’d think before shooting his mouth off.’ I struggle to rescue a stray eyelash. ‘I might forgive, but I don’t forget.’
‘He’s scared you won’t help him with the audition.’
‘I ought to refuse.’
‘But you won’t?’
‘Of course not. I’ve already checked the rota to make sure I can take a couple of days off to go with him. Are you OK to cover for me on Thursday and Friday? I’ll do the weekly report on Saturday.’
‘Of course. You don’t need to ask.’
‘I don’t know what I’d do without you. Love the new haircut by the way.’
‘Thanks, I thought it was about time I grew up, I am a mother now after all.’
I allow myself a second glance in the mirror. It isn’t quite the car crash of earlier. Sharon obviously spends a good deal more money on make-up than me.
‘You must tell me where you get this,’ I say.
‘How about we go late night shopping together next Thursday?’
‘Deal.’ I say. ‘Now, let’s go face our public. Is Brian in yet?’
‘I think he’s been called away to a meeting at head office. Probably for the best if Audrey is coming in today.’
‘I’d forgotten about that.’
I might look less like the wreck of the Hesperus, but I’m in no mood to face Audrey over coffee and a sticky bun. My mobile rings.
It’s Bryn. ‘There’s someone at the counter to see you. She says you’re expecting her.’
‘It’s
her,’ I tell Sharon. ‘Wish me luck.’
‘You’ll be fine, what’s the worst she can do?’
‘Don’t start me off,’ I say and walk like a woman condemned to death.
Audrey spends almost two hours telling me what a thoroughly crap husband Brian has turned out to be. I want to ask her about some of the things he told me, but how exactly do you casually ask about a miscarriage over a double cappuccino and a blueberry muffin? She mood swings from bitter Audrey to sad, lonely co-dependent Audrey and then to ever-so-slightly-scary, likely-to-flip-at-any-moment Audrey. By the time I finally make my excuses and leave, I’m convinced no matter how much in love they once were, their split was the lucky break Brian needed.
I take a late lunch after tracking down Andy. Being a master of dealing with the fallout from his own hissy fits, he makes no mention of the previous evening. Over more coffee and a chicken salad, I tell him about the phone call from Sister Avis.
‘How on earth did she track you down?’
‘Probably through that classmates site.’
‘Hasn’t that place brought you enough grief? What does she want?’
‘No idea. The thing is, I sort of feel like I ought to meet up with Bernie. I do kind of owe it to her to at least hear what she’s got to say.’
‘Why do you owe her anything? You’ve not clapped eyes on the girl in nearly thirty years.’
‘You wouldn’t understand. When a nun tells you to do something, you do it.’
‘I wish a nun would tell Danny from behind the stage door bar to kiss me,’ he says. I ignore him.
‘I thought, seeing as she’s in London ... and we’ll be in London.’
‘You’re coming with me?’ His face lights up.
