by Daws, Amy
I close my laptop and frown at Leslie as she barrels down the stairs with a fussy Marisa in tow. I’m in the middle of reconciling the previous month’s bank statements for C. Designs, but it’s nothing that can’t keep and a Marisa distraction sounds perfect. I am desperate to escape my roaring internal thoughts about what happened between Vi and me last night.
“Of course I’ll take her. Don’t cry, Leslie.” I take in Leslie’s haphazard auburn ponytail, sweat pants, and tank top. She looks frazzled and completely exhausted. “Is there anything else I can do?”
“No, but thanks,” she says, passing Marisa over. I tuck her up by my face and shush her in soft puffs while doing my quick swinging bit. “Honestly, if you could just keep her so I can go down and talk to Theo, it would be ridiculously amazing.”
“Say no more.” I pull Marisa back to get a good look at her, which only causes her to start wailing more. After a pleading look back at Marisa, I wave Leslie off for her to go downstairs to Theo’s shop.
“Hey now, pretty girl. Sounds like someone is ready for a nap,” I coo as I find a swaddle blanket and make quick work of turning Fussy Marisa into Baby Burrito Marisa. “Why are you so hard on your mummy some days? Did you just miss your Uncle Hayden?”
I drop a kiss on her soft head. Then I lay her across my thighs on her side. I stick a dummy in her mouth and shush her while swinging her back and forth with my legs. After a few minutes of fighting it, she passes out. Happiest baby on the block indeed.
Just as I reposition her sleeping body in the crook of my arm, my phone rings. An unfamiliar number illuminates the screen and, thinking it could be an appointment rescheduling, I answer.
“C. Designs. Hayden speaking.”
“Hey, Hayden, it’s Liam Darby,” he says with a certain level of edge to his tone.
“Liam?” My brows lift in surprise.
My last meaningful memory of Liam and I replays in my head. I’m certain I was pissed. It involved a lot of puffed-up chests and me making a crass remark about being inside of Reyna. The bastard actually had the gall to hit me.
Okay, I probably deserved it.
Still, we are far from matey blokes who call each other.
“Listen, sorry to bother you, but Finley called me. She is putting together a last minute hen night for Leslie tomorrow night, and I’d like to throw Theo’s stag party on the same night. I’m calling to see if you have any objection to that, or if you want to be a part of the coordinating and such.”
I pause, trying to determine how to tactfully answer. “Look, I’m not really into the party scene anymore. I mean, I can attend. But as far as planning, I’d rather you handle things if that’s all right.”
“Sure, sure. But you will still be there?” His voice is hopeful.
“Of course I’ll be there.” As long as I can manage it.
“Good. It would be really important to Theo to have you there. And look, Hayden”—he sighs heavily—“I know we don’t have the best history, but Theo’s my best mate and I’d like to think that eventually you and I can be mates, too.”
I stifle a disbelieving chuckle. I can’t help but think that Liam’s olive branch has more to do with keeping his enemies closer. Shortly after rehab, Reyna essentially ripped my heart out and threw it in the River Thames after I told her I was in love with her. I knew deep down she was with Liam, but it was still fucking painful. If I would have had that conversation with her prior to my attempt, I’m not sure how I would have reacted. But seeing the two of them together, engaged and happy at The White Swan Pub a couple of weeks ago, wasn’t as bad as I feared it would be.
Although, it probably had a hell of a lot more to do with the fact that Vi literally swept me off my feet just before I walked inside. Or Bruce did, I should say.
“Sure, Liam,” I reply stiffly, not able to bring myself to be overly kind to him. He did wallop me in the face after all. “Regardless, I appreciate you taking the lead on all this for my brother.”
“No worries. All right, I’ll text you the details for tomorrow. Cheers, Hayden.”
“Cheers.” I hang up and hope that a night out with a bunch of blokes will be just what the doctor ordered to get me over my Vi fixation.
“HEY, VI, IT’S FINLEY!” AN excited American voice trills through the phone line as I sit at my desk at Nikon.
At the same time, Benji stumbles over with a tray of Starbucks and hands me my latte. He’s been a bit quiet and sheepish around me since his drunken evening. I wonder if he remembers kissing Hayden, but I can’t bring myself to ask. I lift my eyebrows and nod a silent thank you before he shuffles over to Hector next.
“Hiya, Finley. Nice to hear from you.” I close out the leather satchel design I’ve been messing with all week, grateful for a break. “How are you?”
“I’m great, thanks! I’m calling because we’ve decided to throw together a last minute bachelorette party for Leslie tomorrow night. Or hen party I guess is what you Brits call it, isn’t it? I’m really hoping that works for you because I know Leslie would love it if you came. She is so crazy stressed with wedding business. Theo thinks she needs a night out, so it feels like now or never.”
“Oh, sure, I totally understand. I’m sorry to hear Leslie is so stressed. Being a new mummy is a lot of work I’m sure.”
“Exactly. I’ve been trying to help her with the wedding stuff, but I’ve been travelling for work a lot, so ugh. It’s just been hard. And Leslie’s family is pretty much not in her life anymore, so we’re doing our best to fill those shoes and not let Leslie dwell on that too much. Frank has been popping over there a lot. Anyway, it’ll be fine. We’ll catch up and get everything done for the wedding one way or another.”
“Blimey,” I reply, stupidly unhelpful.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry. I just unloaded on you! We have four weeks. Plenty of time to plan a wedding,” she laughs maniacally.
Swallowing, I add, “Well, I’m free tomorrow. I’d love to go. Can you let me know what I can do to help? With the wedding or the hen do?” I ask, praying that whatever she might have me help with doesn’t involve coming face-to-face with Hayden again.
I close my eyes and wish away the annoying sting of rejection that’s been niggling at me. After all we shared—after all I know about him in such a short amount of time—he still only saw me as a distraction. Hearing him say that having a relationship with me could make him unhealthy again is a real kick in the teeth. Christ, do I have bad luck with men. Ever since the altercation with Gareth over Pierce cheating on me last year, I’ve been wondering what kind of bloke I’ll ever find who’s right for me.
If my fear of rejection was a slow simmer before, it’s at a proper boil now. Perhaps I need to stop seeking anything serious for a while and have a bit of fun for once. Not give anyone a chance to dump me. I never got to have my slutty university days that so many other girls my age experienced. I had brothers watching my every move. I am beginning to think a hen do is just what the doctor ordered.
“I’m so glad you can make it!” Finley says, pulling me away from my thoughts. “We have everything sorted for the hen party, so just show up and wear something fabulous and red. The party is starting at Frank’s around eight o’clock. I’ll text you the details. Just look red hot, all right?”
“Sounds great. I look forward to it!” I reply cheerily.
We say our goodbyes and, as soon as I hang up, a gift idea for Leslie comes to mind. It’s an unconventional gift for a hen do. Nothing like lingerie, but I think it will be perfect.
MARISA WAILS AS I SET her on the couch just long enough for me to strap the BABY BJÖRN carrier on my chest. She grunts as I awkwardly shimmy her down the front of the makeshift baby front-pack.
“There you go,” I sing proudly, glancing at the entryway mirror. I’m dressed in a pair of my favourite jeans and one of my go-to white V-neck T-shirts. Marisa is decked head-to-toe in red polka dots. Outfit number two for the day for both of us since she crapped through the las
t one, making a mess all over herself and me.
Her chubby arms and legs flail as she readjusts to her new outlook on life now that she’s strapped to my chest. I slide on my Aviators before adjusting Marisa’s matching mini-Aviators I got her last week. Then I give her two hearty thumbs-up. “We look top-notch, pretty girl.”
Theo and Leslie’s voices trail down the stairs from the master loft bedroom, and my brows rise knowingly. They are on their way to a proper row. That is Uncle Hayden’s cue to take Baby Marisa for a neighbourhood stroll. Theo is attempting to convince Leslie that she’s got to go out for her hen party tonight. He’s already arranged for our parents to keep Marisa overnight so he can go to his drunken stag party as well.
Being around alcohol won’t be a ton of fun for me. After my stint in rehab, drinking was the first thing I gave up. It was painful for a long time, but not nearly as bad as when I quit smoking. I didn’t realise how much I had grown dependent on both fags and booze as part of my everyday survival.
Frankly, the cravings became a great deal easier when I moved out of my parents’ house and back to London. After rehab, I wanted to earn my parents’ trust back, and having a strong support system is key to recovery. So I moved back to rural Essex and lived at home with my mum, dad, and Daphney. They did everything they could to keep my spirits up, but working at my dad’s furniture distribution company felt like a slow and painful death. When Theo and Leslie asked me if I’d want to live with them in their flat in London for a while, I thought they were having a laugh. They were due to have a baby any day. Why would they want a suicidal, post-rehab, recovering alcoholic roommate around their new baby?
But fuck me, here I am. I think Leslie had a lot to do with the offer, though. My bond with Leslie is so acute that I don’t think either of us wants to be too far from one another for a while if we can help it. When someone finds you haemorrhaging from your wrists and you suddenly find the will to live again, it’s not a connection that can be easily forgotten. From the second she found me and every moment since, Leslie has felt like my anchor, keeping my feet planted firmly on the ground. Or at least that was until Marisa was born. The first time I soothed Marisa’s cries with my bare hands, life suddenly looked hopeful.
Despite Leslie’s protests about going out, I tend to agree with Theo. She could use a bit of fresh air. Her mate Frank has been over all week, trying to help her with wedding stuff, but she’s too distracted by Marisa to fully put him to good use. Putting on a dress and some heels might do her mental state a world of good, but it’s not my place to say. I’d never gang up on Leslie with my brother. Maybe the other way around, though. My brother can be a moody sod sometimes.
“We best make hay so Mummy and Daddy can scream until their hearts are content,” I coo to Marisa’s soft head as I shift the diaper bag on my shoulder. “We definitely don’t want to be around for the making up part.”
A knock on the door sounds just as I’m about to grab the knob. I open it to find a robust woman in a cream pantsuit with a tight chignon of black hair pulled back. Her eyes are narrow and severe.
“Are you Theo Clarke?” she asks, eyeing me up and down, barely registering the baby strapped to my chest.
“No, I’m his brother, Hayden. Can I help you?” I drag my sunglasses down to get a proper look at this bird.
“I’m here for Leslie Lincoln.” Her tone is clipped and formal. She thrusts a business card into my hand and on the front in large, swirly letters is “Jaci…no K.”
“Regarding?” I ask as I flip it over and hear Theo and Leslie approaching behind me.
“Ah, Miss Lincoln I presume.” The woman moves past me, completely oblivious to Baby Marisa, and sticks her hand out to an equally perplexed Leslie. “I’m Jaci Baxter, pronounced like Jackie but without the K. It’s short for Jaclyn, which is French, of course. You may call me Jaci. I’m your new wedding coordinator.”
Leslie shakes the woman’s hand and looks at Theo. “Did you do this?”
Theo adjusts his eyeglasses. “I haven’t a clue what this is about.”
“I’ve been hired by a friend who wishes to remain anonymous,” Jaci states pragmatically while handing a business card to each of us. “And I’ll have you know, I’m fully qualified, licensed, and insured. Most importantly, already paid in full with a rush bonus for the next few weeks. And I assure you, Miss Lincoln and Mr. Clarke, I am not cheap. So if you turn me away, you’re only hurting yourselves and your extremely generous friend.”
All of our jaws drop. “Who in the bloody hell?” Theo asks first.
“It doesn’t matter,” Jaci snaps, her mouth pinched in a way that makes me wonder if she’s sucking on a lemon drop. “Do you have a diary, Miss Lincoln?”
“A what?” Leslie asks, her agog expression firmly in place.
“A wedding diary. Something with your to-do list. I work seven days a week, so I’d rather get started now, if it’s all the same to you.”
Leslie shakes off her stupor and strides over to the table to grab a huge three-ring binder. “This probably won’t even make sense to you. It’s a bit of a mess.”
“I’ll manage. We’ll discuss more in the car. I have one waiting out front.”
“Waiting for what?” Leslie asks, looking frightened like a naughty child being sent to the chancellor’s office.
Jaci’s nostrils flare. “I have a hair, nail, and makeup session booked for you with the prestigious Trevor Sorbe, hairdresser to the stars.”
Leslie scratches her messy auburn topknot and tugs down on her milk-stained, button-down, plaid shirt of Theo’s. “How on earth did you get me in there?”
“I am well-connected, Miss Lincoln, and I have a standing Saturday appointment for all of my A-list clients.” Jaci puckers her lips with a chuffed with herself expression.
“A-list clients? This sounds like I’m getting Punk’d,” Leslie scoffs. “How do we know you’re not some loony toon off the street?”
Jaci sighs in frustration. “Open any British bridal magazine and you’ll see my name next to the celebrity spreads.” She turns to me and snaps her fingers. I straighten my posture for fear of being sent to the naughty corner as well. “You…You’re the brother?”
I cup Marisa’s head protectively and warily reply, “I am.”
“I shall tell you who the friend is so you can confirm the identity and that will be that. Then we can all get on with our work. But you will maintain your discretion.”
Her eyes blaze with an unspoken threat. I nod nervously.
Marisa and I follow Jaci into the kitchen. She opens up her binder, shuffling through her notes. “Here it is.”
She opens it to me, and my eyes land on the name assigned to the bill. Vilma Harris. Jaci’s hand conceals the pound amount that’s marked with a large stamp: PAID IN FULL.
“Vi?” I whisper in astonishment. Fuck. Just when I was doing a proper job of not thinking about her, she goes and does something like this.
“Discretion,” Jaci seethes through clenched teeth. “Now, can you please go and inform Miss Lincoln that I am who I say I am so we can get on with our day? We haven’t a moment to waste.”
I nod, my eyes still wide with shock, and follow Jaci to inform Leslie that everything is legitimate. I can’t imagine what Vi must have paid for this woman to assist for a month, but Leslie’s green eyes alight with a level of excitement that just goes to show how truly in over her head she’s been all week. She kisses Theo and Marisa goodbye. Then she smiles at me as I sway Marisa soothingly from side to side.
“I’ll see you guys later!” she beams before scurrying out the door with hardly a second look.
“Blimey, she was a scary bird,” Theo huffs, and I nod in agreement.
I ARRIVE AT FRANK’S BRIXTON Victorian mansion just after eight o’clock. It’s a large imposing house right on the corner of a busy street with a skate park sitting kitty-corner from the lot.
Brixton is a diverse neighbourhood that was labelled “up and coming” q
uite some years ago. It definitely has a similar eclectic, artistic vibe as Shoreditch. A crew of young skater-types begin catcalling as I hop out of the cab.
“Oi, you tossers. Go shag yourselves and get a bloody life!” Frank bellows, stepping out of the purple front door that’s framed in crawling ivy. He’s dressed in red trousers with a black strip down each leg and a red dress shirt with a denim bow tie firmly in place.
“Vi, my dear girl. Fuck me sideways, you look like a proper lady of the night.” He bounds down the steps to greet me, his eyes scrolling down my body appreciatively. “Designer, too, I can tell. Cheeky girl.”
I’m wearing a two-piece, red, Valentino dress that reveals a couple inches of bare midriff. It has a scoop neckline and three-quarter sleeves. The skirt sits just below my knees, but the entire ensemble fits like a second skin. It’s very Victoria Beckham posh. Paired with my black Monolo Blahniks, I feel like a proper footballer’s wife to be sure. I’m not ashamed to say I put forth a bit more effort tonight. After hearing nothing from Hayden for the past few days, I knew I was in need of a proper night on the town to help move on.
“Thanks, Frank. A lady of the night is just the look I was going for,” I reply sardonically.
“Get in here before those man-boys descend. You’re the last one we were waiting on.” He puts his slender arm around my shoulders and guides me up the front steps. A lascivious grin spreads across his face. “I hope you’re ready to get your knickers wet.”
“Am I what?” I ask. Before he can explain, I’m thrust into a full swing party.
Music booms loudly as Frank guides me through the large foyer and into the enormous formal dining room on the right. The large table is covered in a red sheet. Before I have a chance to inquire about it, Finley and Leslie both cheer loudly as they waltz out of the attached kitchen.
Leslie leaps toward me first. “Vilma, you’re here! All my favourite London Lovers!” she sings merrily, throwing her arms around me and Finley, hugging us to her sides.
