“You feeling better?” he asked.
“Um… Yeah. Think I just needed a walk,” I said. Methinks my nose will need its own postcode if I lie any more.
Anyhoo, Dad’s lady friend, Elizabeth, was the reason he wanted a chat. He said that even though it’s early days, it’s getting quite serious, and he wanted to know whether I’d be up for him arranging a dinner so I can meet her. Mum and Alan are happy; Dad deserves to be happy too. So I said, “Sure, Dad, I can’t wait.” And when he smiled that broad smile that I haven’t seen for about six months, I instantly became Elizabeth’s biggest fan.
Then we tucked into our lunch. Actually managed to wolf down a chicken roast, even though I was still stuffed with pancakes. Practically rolled my way back home.
10 p.m.
Was too late to catch Madame Tussauds as Mum came into my room carrying a pile of magazines and catalogues while I was getting ready.
“As you’re feeling better, you can help me find a dress to wear to the wedding,” she said. Mum says “the wedding” as if she’s talking about a worldwide event. Like it’s bigger than Will and Kate’s, Posh and Becks’, Coleen and Wayne’s combined. “I’ve told Malibu that she should try and sell it to OK! magazine.”
“You haven’t, have you?” I groaned.
“Why not? She’ll make a beautiful bride, even with the bump. And they love footballers’ weddings, don’t they?”
She flung the magazines onto my bed and then sat down beside them.
“Come on, Remy, you look gorgeous enough.”
She patted the bed to indicate exactly where she wanted me to sit.
I sighed and put down my mascara. “OK. But I don’t have much time.”
It took seconds to realize that Mum is taking this v. seriously. She’s earmarked five dresses and they all cost a small fortune. She says she has some savings that she’s going to use. “The mother of the bride has to look right,” she said. “And tomorrow I’m starting the cabbage soup diet.”
“Mum. Whatever you do – don’t touch that diet,” I warned her.
“Have you got your dress yet?” she asked.
“Er… No. Been a bit busy.” Note to self: Don’t tell Malibu about the new denim one.
“But you’re chief bridesmaid – you’d better get looking. Not long to go now.”
She’s right of course. Just been finding it hard to get motivated about the wedding (for obvs reasons).
I met Angus and Stephen outside Madame Tussauds. Angus actually wasn’t too bad today. It’s funny how you get used to people. After his tour of Madame Tussauds, he had loads to say for himself. And, *inhale*, I actually found his quips about Justin Bieber and (shock horror) Leonardo DiCaprio quite funny. When we got back to Stephen’s and switched on the cinema screen masquerading as a telly, Transformers was on. And I groaned. Stephen’s Hollywood dream girl in sixty inches of HD was the last person I wanted to see. Especially when I’d eaten enough to make me feel like an elephant. Anyhoo, we cut a deal – one that Angus suggested!
“How about we only watch it until she washes the car?” he said.
“Aye,” agreed Stephen. “Then, I promise you can choose any programme you want, Boss Lady.”
I told them to call me when that part was over and went to Stephen’s bedroom. Was glad to, to be honest, because ADF Printers had emailed designs for Tah-dah! loyalty cards and I wanted to check them out. There were five designs, and by the time Stephen declared the lounge a Megan-free zone, I had selected two favourites: a pink card that had Tah-dah! written in purple, with nine white circles for ticks and one on the end that had 50% written across it; and a white card with a pink Tah-dah! and circles. Going to show them to the girls and see what they think. Will be a good way to make up for how horrible I was yesterday.
Really up for peace at the moment and it may even be possible with Angus. Yet again, he got on the right side of me by laying into Megan’s acting as soon as I came back into the lounge.
“Hmm. I see what you mean,” I said. “But she is really gorgeous though.”
Properly getting the hang of this showing I’m a confident woman thing.
And more good news just in: Stephen is done faffing about with his BlackBerry and has just said, “Let’s have an early night” with a v. naughty grin.
Sing: Celebrate good times, come on!
Monday 9 March – 9.35 a.m.
The loyalty cards verdict is split right down the middle. Once I said I prefer the pink ones, Courtney agreed with me (of course). But Lara and Isabel prefer the white ones. Especially Lara – she said they look more “classy and professional”. Hmm.
1.25 p.m.
Stephen’s playing Aston Villa at home this Wednesday, and Courtney has been dropping hints about wanting to go. She’s lovely enough and all that, but don’t think it’s a good idea to take her for three reasons:
1. Don’t want to sound ungrateful (as appreciate her support) but it’s kind of impossible to have a good conversation with someone who agrees with everything you say.
2. Made Kellie promise to come with me to the next home game. (Need back-up after last time.)
3. Angus.
I tried a bit of matchmaking last night.
“Naw, Courtney’s a nice girl but not my type, is she, Stevie?” said Angus.
“Naw, definitely not,” Stephen agreed.
Been making out that I haven’t cottoned on to her hints but starting to feel guilty. I don’t want to lie and say there isn’t a ticket when there is one. That’s why I phoned Kel to see whether she was still up for coming.
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“I need a definite answer, Kel, cos someone else wants to go.”
“OK. Yes then… Probably.”
Grrrrr.
7.05 p.m.
This is just embarrassing now. Before she left to go home, Courtney said, “So, does Stephen expect to play against Aston Villa on Wednesday?”
“Er… Yeah, I suppose so.”
“Oh–hh, I have a feeling the game will be fabulicious.”
“Uh-huh. I’m sure it will.”
“My feet have only just hit the ground again after the Man United match. It was so brill… And I’d love to go on Wednesday. Oops! Sorry,” she said, putting her hand over her mouth. “I’ve overstepped the mark, haven’t I?”
Right then I would have preferred to tell a child that Santa doesn’t exist than tell Courtney she couldn’t come to the game.
“Of course you haven’t! I’ll see what I can do.”
Tuesday 10 March – 8.40 a.m.
Stephen received a couple of text messages late last night, just as we’d got into bed.
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“Probably Angus.”
“What – from his bedroom down the hall?!”
Stephen went red. “Aw yeah. Forgot he lives here for a second. Well, in that case, it’s probably my agent.”
“Maybe you should check. It must be important,” I said, trying to not sound suspicious.
“Naww. We’re busy,” he replied. Then he gave me a kiss, so I went along with it. But woke up this morning with my head split in two. The positive side says: Stephen’s a great guy, even though he hasn’t said that he loves me. But the negative side is saying: He’s hiding something. That text wasn’t his agent. And if he is lying about that then you can’t really believe he was playing poker on away games!
12.30 p.m.
It’s been a bad morning. Lara kept making a big deal out of getting nail varnish from the rack behind the desk.
“Harumph!” she huffed when she walked by. Then “Harumph!” again when she walked back to her station with a couple of colours in her hand.
Then the customer from hell – Katie Weeks – arrived. She’d obviously been scrubbing her skin big time because she wasn’t acid-orange any more, more a dark beige. She wanted the free Tanarama session and manicure that I’d promised as compensation.
“You’re fine to use the Tanarama
booth, Miss Weeks,” I said in a polite voice.
“Mrs,” she corrected.
“Oops! Sorry. Mrs Weeks. But I’m afraid you’re supposed to book the manicure in advance.”
“You didn’t say that before!” she objected.
We were busy – and the last thing I needed was a scene. So I became double, triple polite. “I’m absolutely certain that I did. And unfortunately, Mrs Weeks, I’m completely booked up for the remainder of the day. However, I can make an appointment for you tomorrow.”
“If I wanted it tomorrow, I would have come tomorrow,” she snapped, raising her voice loud enough to make everyone glance in our direction.
Grrr. This is one of the things I hate about the service industry. The customer is always right – even when they’re clearly not. And you have to be nice to them, even if they’re being bloody horrible to you.
Still, managed to keep my cool (just about). “Well, I agree, it’s an unfortunate mistake but—”
“It’s OK,” Courtney interrupted. “I can do it in my lunch break. Will twenty minutes’ time be all right?”
Katie hummed and hawed for a bit and you could tell she was enjoying making us wait, then she eventually said, “OK.”
1.10 p.m.
Called Stephen when I popped out to get a sandwich because I feel crap not asking Courtney to the game when she’s being so nice.
“Can you get another ticket for the Aston Villa game?” I asked.
“Who for?”
“Courtney. I feel bad about not bringing her.”
“Well, don’t. I’m sure she’ll survive.”
“Unless … Kellie can’t come. I’ll double-check.”
“Naw. Leave it. Don’t really want Courtney there, to tell you the truth. It’s … a wee bit awkward for Angus.”
Thought I’d break it to her as soon as I got back, but walked in and saw Katie Weeks inspecting her nails as if they were under a microscope.
“There’s a little smudge there,” she said, holding up the offending finger.
Courtney used nail varnish remover to wipe the nail clean. Which meant she’d have to start that nail all over again – base coat, two coats of colour, top coat.
“And there… And there,” Katie added.
I know I wasn’t up close but they looked perfect to me. A mere mortal might have huffed and puffed but Saint Courtney simply said, “Oh, sorry. Let me fix them.”
She deserves to go to the game. She really does.
Aa–aaarghh! Actually feel evil now.
Going to phone Kel. If she can’t come, I’m sure I can persuade Stephen that Courtney should – Angus needs to get over himself.
1.30 p.m.
“Are you double, triple sure you’re coming tomorrow?”
“Positive,” Kellie replied.
“OK… Great,” I told her. But she said I sounded disappointed. “Come off it, you know that’s not true. It’s just—” Stopped myself but Kel knows me too well.
“Did you want to bring your new supercali fwend?” she teased.
“No, course not,” I said.
7.05 p.m.
OMG. Broke the bad news to Courtney and thought she was going to rip into me for a sec because her nostrils flared. OK, they only moved a teensy weensy bit, but for her that’s a proper strop.
9 p.m.
Hate having to come home just so I can sort clothes for the game tomorrow. Would it be too forward to suggest I leave some clothes at Stephen’s? Probably. Maybe it’s worth asking just to see his reaction.
Mum cooked a tasty pasta carbonara tonight. But didn’t eat it all. Had to escape because she kept going on about Malibu’s wedding. And the fact that I don’t have a chief bridesmaid dress yet seemed to cause her proper distress. Thought she was going to have a fit.
Which reminds me – will see how Mal’s doing.
9.15 p.m.
She’s so good at acting it’s hard to tell that she meant it, but Malibu said she was fine.
“The baby’s kicking a lot. Almost thirty-seven weeks now. It can come any time after that.”
“Yippee! Can’t wait to meet my little niece or nephew,” I replied, crossing my fingers. Please let the baby be Gary’s.
12.30 a.m.
Can’t sleep. Keep thinking about those messages Stephen got on Monday night. Keep asking myself: What did his face look like when he heard the message alerts? Then: What did it look like when I made it clear it couldn’t be Angus? And: How did he look when I told him to check his phone? Guilty? Basically: Are you the man I think you are, Stephen Campbell?
Wednesday 11 March – My second home game!!
8 a.m.
Woke up and made a decision: going to stop fretting about Stephen and ENJOY MY LIFE. And I already feel two stone lighter. #YOLO
8.30 a.m.
Showered. Moisturized.
Hair: Not enough time so this will have to do – a slight version of the Cheryl Cole. Actually prefer it this way, to be honest. It’s less glamour puss and more simple, like me.
Clothes: The red dress that I “borrowed” from Malibu ages ago. Got a little pang of sadness in my stomach when I picked it out because it reminds me of James. He loved me wearing it. Missing him badly today.
8.55 a.m.
I’m in. Courtney seems to be her usual self, so I suppose she’s over the disappointment of not coming tonight. Still, won’t mention it though. Just in case.
Oh, and I phoned ADF Printers and ordered a hundred loyalty cards.
“Which ones – pink or white?” the man on the phone asked.
“Um… The white ones, please.” (Pains me to admit it, but Lara’s right, they do look more professional.)
12.15 p.m.
OMG. The Tanarama’s buzzing today. As one steps out, another steps in.
6 p.m.
Kellie arrived all dolled up for the big match.
“Can we have a quick chat in the kitchen?” she asked.
“Sure,” I told her.
Thought she was going to tell me something about her and Jack. Instead she said, “Just saw your mum in the newsagent’s. You didn’t tell me Mal was getting married.”
“Oh, didn’t I? Must have slipped my mind. Anyway, you look good.”
“Why are you changing the subject?” she asked.
“Me? Am I?”
“You know you are. Look, your mum’s a bit worried. She thinks you’re jealous about Malibu’s wedding.”
“Yeah right,” I scoffed.
“Well, are you?”
“Of course not.”
Aargh! My life!!!
Anyhoo, somehow Kel managed to leave her iPhone at home – and no way can she live without her iPhone, so she’s just rushed off to get it. We’ll be able to leave straight away once she’s back because Dad has just arrived to get the keys. He’s locking up for me again tonight. #BestDadEver
11.25 p.m.
Dear God, can you please, please, please erase the last five hours? Well, OK, not everything. Keep the bit where Stephen scores and Netherfield Park wins. But I’d like to change everything else. Or, to be more specific, what I didn’t need was to go into the players’ lounge to discover that Danielle (owner of lion’s-mane hairstyle) had taken me seriously at the last home game and actually believed that my name was Megan Fox. WTF?!
“Hi Megan. Your man played well,” she said.
“Megan? Who’s Megan?” I asked, frowning.
“You’re Megan Fox, right?”
“Er… Danielle, Megan Fox isn’t actually my name.”
Kel didn’t even attempt to hold in her laugh. At least I did. OK, I wasn’t successful, but I tried.
“What did I tell you – they’re as thick as shit,” Kel said before I could stop her. Danielle walked away like a wounded puppy.
“Kel, you shouldn’t have said that.”
“Why not? It’s true.”
Maybe it was – but I still felt crappy about it. Especially when I noticed Danielle come back into the
room a while later and stand on her own. The WAGs were all laughing and gossiping by the bar. They didn’t speak to either of us. Had I got things completely twisted and she hadn’t been fully accepted by the other WAGs? A few minutes later, when Kel went to the loo and Stephen was still at the bar, I thought it was the perfect time to introduce myself properly and apologize. I walked up to her and held out my hand. “Sorry about that, Danielle. It’s just that I—”
“Piss off!” she shouted.
“Don’t be like that. It was just a—”
“I said – piss off!”
Everyone in the lounge was staring at me as I made my way back towards the bar. Especially Stephen.
“I don’t know what got into her…” I began. But he wasn’t having it.
“I do,” he hissed. “Maybe you think it’s OK to mock her in the players’ lounge, just like you did in your salon.”
“No… I…”
“Get yer coat. Cos I’m going!” he snapped.
“But Kel’s still in the Ladies.”
“Tough. Meet me at the car.”
He stormed out. Angus, hot on his heels, shook his head at me and went, “Tsk, tsk.” I’ve gone right off him. AGAIN.
In a way, Danielle should thank me because a huddle of big-haired, designer-clad women formed a circle around her, no doubt offering their support against the big bad bitch. Wasn’t about to stay in that room, dying of shame, so went to find Kel in the toilets. That’s how I spotted her in the corridor, exchanging numbers with Netherfield Park midfielder David Joseph.
Say You Love Me, Stevie C Page 12
