‘Exactly! I mean, you wouldn’t have to follow through on anything beyond getting him to kiss you, should you not want to.’
‘Oh, I do want to . . . ’ Seffy said, a little too loudly and a little too quickly. But she did. She would give anything to have Daniel Balfour. He was perfect. And while that perfection might annoy Nicole sometimes, it was all that Seffy, who couldn’t find a man willing to stay with her beyond the first few dates, wanted.
‘Gross.’ Nicole pulled a face. ‘But fair enough.’
Her phoned beeped again with a response from Justin. Sorry babes got a gig on Saturday so can’t come to the party. Walk on Sunday instead? Jx.
A walk?! No chance. If Justin wasn’t going to make the effort, then neither was she. Nicole put her phone away without bothering to reply. I’ll make him sweat. Activity-loving moron.
Seffy blinked giddily, feeling excited and interested for the first time in months. She had never gone after Daniel before because Nicole had never given her the go-ahead and she was terrified of Nicole. But now, here she was, actually instructing her to seduce him.
‘It’s for his own good,’ Nicole insisted.
‘We’re saving him from a disastrous marriage to – to a gold-digger!’
‘Exactly.’ Nicole picked up her champagne glass and clinked it against Seffy’s.
‘Bye-bye, Rebecca Ashworth.’
‘Sayonara, scum!’
Chapter Seven
Lizzie
It’s been a week since I lost my waitressing gig at Paulo’s Diner and nobody else seems to want to employ me. For some strange unfathomable reason no one’s interested in a sixth-form drop-out with no real career skills and an inability to stick to one job for more than a few months. Weird, huh? Jay’s been so lovely about me staying on the sofa at his studio flat. He said I’m welcome to treat it as my own (tiny, cramped) abode. But I know that me being there is a total cock block for him. He’s not said anything, but I know he likes bringing lads back to his place and impressing them with his extensive music collection, cocktail-mixing skills and his eight-hundred-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets. Having me sitting there on the sofa in my Little Miss Bossy Primark PJs eating Nutella straight from the jar and binge-watching Grey’s Anatomy as he and whichever random gentleman friend fall through the door is not exactly a turn-on, is it? I’ve offered to make myself scarce on the nights he wants to bring someone home but I don’t really know where I’d go apart from Becky and Daniel’s. And I can’t go there because each time I do, I see their perfect little adult life which, don’t get me wrong, I am genuinely buzzing about, but it just reminds me what a total jobless, boyfriendless, hopeless fuck-up I am. Not that Becky would ever make me feel like that. But still . . . it’s all a bit awkward and I’d feel like a bag of dicks if I imposed on their beautiful, blissful engagement bubble.
The interview I had this morning was for an usher at an artsy cinema in Angel. I thought I’d be a shoo-in. I mean, I’ve been an usher before. I didn’t tell them I got fired from that job for eating all the snacks, but it’s, you know, an usher. What does an usher do? They put their hand out while everyone plonks their tickets in them and then they point out which way it is to the screen. Which is already clearly signposted with a gigantic neon number anyway. Then, for no reason, they pop into the cinema screen in the middle of the movie with a torch and scare the shit out of everybody before buggering off again. And if they’re lucky they get to eject rowdy teens from the back row for throwing popcorn and/or indulging in heavy petting. Yack.
But this was some kind of fancy picture house where they have table service and the seats are velvet sofas and double beds. They serve gin and tonics and give people blankets if they’re cold. My old gaff barely ever had paper napkins, for crying out loud. They were apparently looking for a ‘higher class’ of usher. And I apparently didn’t fit the criteria. To be fair, I was wearing my hair in what I thought was a super-cool tight, high ponytail, but looking back now with the benefit of hindsight I can see how I might have looked on the cusp of chavvy.
Ugh. Stupid snobby cinema. It’s just a glorified Odeon with fancy blankets! One of the things I hate most in the world is snobbery. So I have a northern accent? And I don’t plaster my face in expensive make-up? And I’m not super skinny? And I prefer wearing Converse to Jimmy Choos? That does not make me any less of a person.
The fact is, I could have done that job. And I could have had an endless supply of Ice Blasts once more. Actually, sod them, I bet that fancy pants ‘picture house’ doesn’t even do Ice Blasts. Probably thinks they’re too good for them. And let me tell you something, no one – I repeat, no one – is too good for an Ice Blast. Pretentious wankers.
‘Are you going to blow that thing, or are you going to stand there all day staring at it like it’s a Zac Efron poster?’
A voice pulls me out of my private pity party. It’s Lauren, Becky’s best friend. While Daniel is busy with an emergency at work (I wonder what classifies as an emergency in the luxury services industry. Private jet a bit too small? Not enough caviar? Diamonds too heavy around one’s neck?) Lauren, Bex and I are at The Elgin setting up the function room for tonight’s engagement party. I like Lauren. She’s bubbly and outgoing and warm and enjoys a drink and – most importantly of all – she’s a really good friend to my sister.
I look down at the white balloon she’s referring to. The one I’ve been holding for the past ten minutes while staring into space. I’m on blowing duty. Lauren said I’d ‘had enough practice’. Cheeky cow. But completely fair comment.
I stick my fingers up at her with a grin and get back to my blowing. I’ve already done twenty pink balloons. Only fifteen more white to go and then I can go and get myself ready for the party. Christ, this is actually the most graft I’ve done in a long time.
While Lauren continues hanging up We’re Engaged!!! banners, Becky wanders over to me, looking both anxious and excited.
‘You OK?’ I ask, looking at her unusually pale face with concern.
‘I’m nervous about you guys meeting Daniel’s parents and his sister,’ she says, running her hands through her hair. ‘They’re, er, well – they’re not like us.’
I give her a quick hug. ‘It’ll be fine. They can’t be that bad! They brought Daniel into the world and he’s one of the nicest men on the planet. I’m sure it’ll all be great and we’ll all be doing tequila shots together by the end of the night.’
‘Errr, yeah, something like that.’ Becky says vaguely, not sounding convinced. ‘I hope so, anyway.’
‘Hey!’ I scold. ‘No worrying! There’s going to be a party tonight. For you! And the love of your life! To celebrate the fact that you want to keep on sticking your tongues down each other’s throats and touching each other’s intimate parts for ever and ever as long as you both shall live! Everything’s bloody brilliant!’
I know I’m laying it on thick but I need to do something to distract her. It seems to do the trick, though, and my sister starts laughing at my excitement and probably my crudeness. ‘You’re both right and disgusting, little one. I need to stop being such a nervous nelly. Of course you’re right. Everything is brilliant. I’m being an idiot. Tonight is going to be great.’
‘Yes.’ I hold my hand up for a high five which she gives me and then we link our pinky fingers together and squeeze – our secret signal we’ve used since we were kids to let one sister know the other one’s got her back.
Becky looks more relaxed as she picks up a balloon and stretches it out. ‘So, little sis. How’s the job hunt going?’
And I don’t know why I do it. Maybe it’s because she’s looking relaxed now and I don’t want her to start worrying again, or that I don’t want to spoil such an important night for her, or perhaps it’s simply that I’m embarrassed. But, for the first time in my life, I brazenly lie to my big sister.
‘I – I got a job!’ I blurt, before I can properly think about what I’m saying. ‘I just found out,’ I add, pointing at my phone,
as if I’ve just received news of this job. Instead of the dial-a-drink weekly offers text I’ve actually received.
What am I doing? What the actual hell am I doing?
Becky’s cheeks flush with pleasure. ‘Oh my God! Lizzie, that’s amazing. Where at? What will you be doing? When do you start?’
Jesus Christ, Bex, what is this, the Spanish Inquistion? Give a girl a minute to think up her lie before bombarding her with questions, will you? Awwww, God. She seems so happy for me and my new fake job. Why didn’t I just tell her the truth? That no one in London wants to hire me and I sleep on my friend’s futon and the highlight of my week is when they update Netflix? I look desperately around the room for inspiration and hear a dog bark in the distance.
‘DOG!’ Brilliant save, Lizzie, just spectacular thinking on your feet. Forget ushering – you should go into espionage. You just shouted out an animal, for heaven’s sake. Oh, balls. Think, think, THINK! ‘I mean, It’s . . . erm . . . dog walking. I’m going to be a dog walker.’ Great save.
Becky laughs, pleased. ‘Oh my God, that’s perfect! That’s actually a perfect job for you!’
‘Is it . . . ?’
‘Yes!’ she says. ‘Outdoors, sociable, playing with puppies in the park.’
Hmm. She’s right. That sounds fucking awesome. Now I feel even worse that it’s not my real job. Why did I go down this path?
‘So when do you start?’
‘Oh, er, Monday. 9 a.m. sharp.’ And the lies they just keep on coming.
‘Amazing! Well, make sure you’re not late on your first day.’ She says it kindly, but there’s a steeliness behind her eyes. She lowers her voice then and bites her lip. ‘And tonight at the party . . . just . . . well, will you be on your best behaviour, please?’
I frown. ‘My best behaviour?’
‘Just . . . I want the Balfours to see how great my family are. You know, just don’t pull any of your usual Lizzie nonsense, okay?’
Huh?
‘Er, right,’ I say, caught off guard and completely wrong-footed. ‘Yes. Of course.’
She smiles at me gratefully and then goes to help Lauren hang up the rest of the banners. A strange feeling of sadness rushes through me. Don’t pull any of your usual Lizzie nonsense? What does she think I’m going to do? Take all my clothes off and write Congratulations Bex and Dan on my arse cheeks? Get drunk and try and neck on with the infamous Daddy Balfour? I love Bex and I adore Daniel and I couldn’t be happier that they’re getting married, but is that really how my sister sees me? As some kind of nuisance child who needs reminding how to behave? I can’t help but feel hurt and confused. I know I can be a bit over the top sometimes but that’s why me and Bex work – I’m the crazy to her sensible, I’m the wild Saturday night out to her cosy Sunday morning, I’m the ying to her yang and all that. Or at least, that’s what I used to think. I look over to where Bex is standing, laughing at Daniel and Lauren making a mess of the banners, and it occurs to me that things are going to change soon. It’s not going to be just the two of us any more. It’s going to be the two of them, and then me following behind. Like some unnecessary and useless third bollock.
And for the first time in my life I feel a distance opening up between me and my sister and I don’t know what to do about it.
Chapter Eight
Becky
‘Dad!’ I cry happily as my dad walks in. He’s looking smart in a pale blue shirt and dark jeans, and a just a little intimidating with his shaved head, scar above his eyebrow and bulky frame. I’ve not seen him for a while. He’s a mechanic back in Leeds and the garage keeps him busy and I’m so busy with my job here too, it’s not always easy to arrange a time for him to come to London or for me to go back up north. I miss him. And it is so good to see him.
Dad wraps his arms around me and gives me a squeeze. ‘Hello, my princess!’ he beams. ‘You look bloody beautiful.’
I laugh him off, but I do feel nice tonight. I’m wearing a sleeveless petal-pink silk wrap dress that I managed to get in the sale at Topshop. ‘Thanks!’ I smile. ‘You’re one of the first to arrive and you look smart as a carrot!’
He beams down at me. The party has only just started so there are only a few people here, as of yet. But The Elgin looks great. The balloons and banners look festive and fun, there’s champagne on every surface and canapés being handed out by bar staff. It’s just a normal Saturday night in a busy pub in the next room, but our little area feels special and intimate and the perfect place for our party. Lizzie has prepared a killer playlist and Ed Sheeran’s voice is currently booming out of the speakers around the room.
Dad chuckles. ‘You know me. Why be on time when you can be early?’
‘Exactly!’
Spotting that he’s arrived, Daniel comes over and shakes Dad’s hand, his voice dropping an octave lower as he welcomes him to the party. My dad is such a bloke and Daniel always follows suit, trying to act like a bit more of a geezer whenever he’s around. He’s the least geezer-ish man I know – he likes watching Downton Abbey and drinking white wine and uses more of my anti-wrinkle face cream than I do. Seeing him trying to impress my dad with his fake overt masculinity is both hilarious and adorable to watch.
‘How you doin’, mate?’ Daniel says, self-consciously. ‘Want a beer? A pint? A pint of good real ale?’
A pint of good real ale? Oh, Daniel, you’re just too cute. I stifle a giggle.
My dad shakes his head and pats his slightly-too-round beer belly. ‘A gin and slimline for me, Dan, mate. I’m cutting down.’
I raise my eyebrows in surprise. My dad loves a pint. Pints are in his top three list of favourite things. Lizzie and I are first, obviously, lamb chops and gravy with mash is second, and a nice cold pint of lager is number three. Has been for as long as I can remember.
‘No beer? What? Right, that’s it. Who are you and what have you done with my dad?’
We all spin around at the sound of Lizzie’s voice. She looks as cool as ever in an electric blue scuba skirt and a short black halter top. There’s an old camera hanging around her neck and she’s holding two champagne flutes. One of them is empty.
Dad pulls her into a massive hug, the camera in danger of getting crushed. ‘My baby girl! I’ve missed you!’
‘Watch the merch!’ Lizzie laughs, putting protective arms around her beloved new Polaroid camera. ‘So what’s all this about you cutting down on the beer? You got a new lady friend to impress or something?’
Lizzie’s only joking – the idea of Dad having a girlfriend is preposterous. He hasn’t been interested in dating anyone since Mum left, always said that the only women he needs in his life were me and Lizzie. But now he’s blushing slightly and shrugs the question away. Lizzie and I share a look. We tend to stay well out of Dad’s love life, mostly because he’s never really had one. I mean, we know that he’s a bit of a local heart-throb in our hometown. He’s never short of a casserole from the local single (and sometimes married) women but that’s always pretty one-sided – he never seems to reciprocate any of these advances. He’s kind enough to these women but mostly out of politeness rather than genuine attraction. It’s been twelve years but they still see him as this heartbroken beefcake who was abandoned by his wife and left to raise two daughters alone. But apart from the odd drink here and the odd dinner there, he’s never been involved in anything serious. And now he’s acting seriously cagey. Something is definitely up.
‘Dad – are you seeing someone?’ I ask, my eyes widening.
He grins, clearly unable to help himself. ‘Well, I didn’t want to tell you yet, tonight’s about you and Daniel, but, yeah, I am seeing someone. Jill, her name’s Jill. It’s nothing serious, really.’
But the sparkle in his eyes tells us it’s a lot more than ‘nothing serious’.
‘DAD!! You sly old dog, you! That’s great news,’ Lizzie says easily. ‘I’m thrilled to ribbons for you.’ And I have to agree. I’ve always worried about my dad but even more so after both Lizzi
e and I moved to London. I worried about whether he’d be lonely, looked after, loved. It’s actually a relief that he’s found someone who obviously makes him happy and might stick around for a while. I still remember how Dad was when Mum took off, sitting alone at the window of our house, staring out onto the street, not hearing anything anyone said. It was heartbreaking.
Lizzie sneezes loudly and I immediately reach into my bag and grab a pack of tissues. As I hand them over she says, ‘Thanks, Mary Poppins,’ which in itself isn’t weird, but there’s an edge to her voice that wasn’t there earlier today. She blows her nose and mutters something that I can’t quite make out but then I’m sure I hear her say, ‘I am behaving very nicely, thanks very much.’ She downs the champagne from the second glass she’s holding. How much has she had to drink?
Before I can think about it properly, I hear Daniel’s mum’s voice from behind me and my whole body stiffens. I turn around to see Elena Balfour in a white Chanel suit, her icy blonde hair perfectly coiffed. Beside her are Rupert Balfour, wearing a navy suit and a red tie, Nicole Balfour, wearing a figure-hugging, short strappy black dress and a skinny brunette who I don’t recognise and who looks a lot like Angelina Jolie. She’s wearing a low-cut floaty white dress just like Angelina Jolie, too.
Shit.
The Balfours have arrived.
Daniel leans in and whispers into my ear. ‘This will be fine. Just relax and remember I love you.’
I plaster a smile onto my face, walk over to Daniel’s terrifying family and welcome them to the party.
‘Mother, Father, Nicole,’ Daniel says, beckoning them over to our little congregation by the bar. ‘Seffy?’ he adds on to the end, with a question. ‘Nice new hair-do!’ he says kindly. This Seffy almost chokes on her own giggle, flicking the long dark, glossy locks over her tiny shoulder. Daniel is right, though. Her hair is beautiful.
I grab glasses of champagne off the bar to hand around, making sure there’s one for me too. I need something to quell the nerves tugging at my stomach. I introduce everyone to each other, noticing that the whole time Elena’s face is set as though she can smell something deeply offensive. She looks around The Elgin – a lovely pub that I adore – and it’s clear to me that she’s waiting for a some sort of ASBO thug to jump out from behind the bar and pinch the diamond earrings right from her oddly small ears.
My Sister's Wedding: For better or worse, two families are about to become one . . . Page 5
