50 Ways to Find a Lover (36 page)

‘Simon, do you know what the woman in purple is called?’ Julia asks.

‘S, s, sa,’ Simon starts, but he’s more interested in the waiter with a tray of canapés who is walking across the lawn.

‘Sarah?’ Julia pants. I hear her breathing quicken. This is stage one of Julia’s legendary temper.

‘Something like that.’ Simon shrugs before darting after the waiter and leaving us.

Stage two of Julia’s temper is the narrowing of her eyes. Stage three is when the dark cloud passes over her face and her forehead furrows like a ripe pumpkin. Stage four is the explosion of inventive expletives. Stages two, three and four follow in Silverstone-speed succession. I look at her, terrified.

‘That’s fuckin’ it!’ she says gutturally. ‘I’m going to talk to the cock-headed cunt.’ I open my mouth to protest but am quickly silenced as she whisks the champagne glass out of my hand and stalks off, a glass of bubbly in each hand. I stand frozen, mouthing the word ‘bollocks’.

‘What’s up with Big Tits?’ asks Si, returning with three smoked-salmon blinis.

‘She’s about to make a terrible scene and ruin the wedding.’

‘Uh?’ he says with his mouth full.

Julia stalks up to them both. She splashes a glass of champagne in each of their faces. The three of them stare at each other for a moment in disbelief. Then the Brazilian woman’s face contorts into an expression of fury. She starts spouting vehement Portuguese. Champagne drips from her chin, and her once wild wavy hair is now plastered to her face.

‘Sare, why did Jules just drench Bertrand and his sister?’

asks Simon, his eyes glued to the scene. I stand there staring at the splash marks on Bertrand’s grey satin suit. I fully expect the Brazilian sex goddess to thump Julia. Simon’s words register.

‘His sister?’

‘Well, stepsister or something; his dad’s wife’s daughter from her first marriage, I think.’

‘How do you know?’

‘She’s fit, so I asked Bertrand who she was.’

‘And that’s what he said, did he?’ I say.

‘Yeah. What the hell’s going on here, Sare?’

I look at Julia, who’s now been joined by Nikki and Flora. They’re having a very intense conversation. Nikki throws her head back and starts laughing. She hugs Julia and begins talking to the Brazilian goddess. Bertrand then starts speaking in Portuguese to the gorgeous woman, who clasps her hands to her mouth. She looks mortified. Every pair of eyes is on Julia as she walks back to Simon and me.

‘It’s his sister!’ she says, looking at her toes. ‘Simon, her name’s Sarafina. It sounds nothing like Sarah.’

Simon puts his arm around Julia’s shoulders.

‘Come here, you silly cow.’

Julia nestles her head into his shoulder. Simon squeezes Julia. I start thinking like an immature seven-year-old. I’m his ‘silly cow’ and Julia’s my friend and I should comfort her. I want to tear them apart. I don’t. I wander away from them to look for a tasty usher.

forty-seven

Quest No. 7: Pulling at Nikki and Bertrand’s Wedding. A wedding is the perfect pulling platform. People are dressed up, full of champagne and looking at a happy couple. The mood is love, love and love. No one talks of divorce or the breakdown of the family unit. People are frisky and fruity. Plus everyone is a guest of someone you know. They’ve been vetted. The chosen specimen will not turn out to be a psychopath, and if they do, someone, i.e. the bride or groom, should have warned you.

There is a sign on my noticeboard that says
Set you’re eyes on the prize
. And I have. I am aiming high. He is an usher. If all men were chocolates in a box of Quality Street, I would usually go for the strawberry-crème man or the that-really-bloody-hard-toffee-that-breaks-your-jawman. I would go for the man I think no one else will want. But this usher is the purple one. He is the milk chocolate caramel with the nut in the middle of men. He is tall and broad and muscly. He has olive skin and perfect teeth. He should be on a calendar, not at a wedding. He is Tarzan in a suit. I am his Jane in Spanx. He is Brazilian. We don’t have men like this in England. Men in England look like they buy their meat at Sainsbury’s and pick up a scratch-card at the same time. This man looks like he kills his meat in the jungle and rescues a trapped panther cub on the way home.

He’s helping a puny waiter move a table. He lifts it over his head. I watch his arm muscles tensing beneath his shirt. If he was mine I would lock him up in my flat and make him carry heavy things all day. He puts the table down. I start to make my way over to him. I shall see if he would like a hand. Then I will ask him if he enjoyed his dinner. Everyone loves talking about food.

‘Can I give you a hand?’ I smile. He looks at me blankly. Perhaps his English isn’t very good.

‘Would you like me to help you?’ I shout slowly, pointing at myself, then him. He looks slightly shocked.

‘Sare, there you are,’ shouts Simon, slapping me on the bum. He offers his hand towards the Brazilian. They do a manly handshake.

‘I’m Simon.’

‘I’m Santos. Hello.’ He smiles. Santos. It sounds like the name of a god or a bleach.

‘I’m Sarah,’ I shout.

‘Jesus, Sare, I don’t think he’s deaf,’ says Simon, acting as though I have hurt his eardrums. Santos starts to laugh. He has a bit of spinach stuck in the middle of his perfect bottom teeth.

‘Did you enjoy dinner?’ I say slowly to Santos. I start to play with my own bottom teeth, in the hope that he’ll pick at his and find the spinach.

Santos looks blank. Simon makes a gesture of eating and then puts his thumb up. Santos smiles and puts his thumb up as well.

‘Mate, spinach in your teeth,’ says Simon, pointing.

Santos pats Simon on the back and heads towards the loo.

‘Cheers for that, Si,’ I say with sarcasm.

‘Come here, you.’ He grabs me and kisses me on the cheek. Then he releases me. ‘What’s up with Jules?’

‘Nothing, why?’

‘She’s on heat. She just flashed her boobs at me.’

‘She always flashes her boobies when she’s drunk.’

‘Are we going to have a dance later?’ He smiles.

‘Yeah,’ I say excitedly. I love dancing with Simon, although it generally ends in an ankle injury.

‘Sarah!’ It’s Nikki, rushing up behind me. ‘I’ve hardly seen you all day! Listen, I’ve got a room booked upstairs. Come with me for a chat.’ She takes my arm.

‘Great. I’ll reapply make-up and Santos won’t be able to resist me.’

‘Ah, have you met Santos? Isn’t he gorgeous?’

We pass Julia, whom she holds her hand out to. Nikki leads us to the first floor and opens the door to a room full of presents and coats and a double bed. I look longingly at the bed with its huge cushions. Like a zombie I move towards it. I take my shoes off. I shall have a quick lie-down before I seduce Santos.

‘Ahhhh,’ I sigh, melting into the softness.

The girls laugh and head into the bathroom. When I close my eyes the picture in my head isn’t of Santos, it’s of Simon. He’s dancing and laughing and when the music gets to a slow bit he pulls me towards him. This must be the most comfortable bed I have ever lain on.

My mouth feels like Fuzzy Felt that has been fished out of a dustbin full of garlicky chicken, red wine and champagne. I have no saliva. That’s a lie. I do have saliva but it’s all stuck in crusty chunks at the corners of my mouth. I scratch off the crusty bits. I feel them. They’re big. Water. I really need water. And chocolate. I want chocolate. I think I dozed off. I hope Santos hasn’t found alternative entertainment. Someone’s in the room. I can hear voices.

‘Come here, you sexy bugger.’ It’s Julia’s husky voice.

I hear slurping.

‘Um, Julia . . .’ Simon starts.

I sit up in bed. I don’t want to be here to witness this.

‘I really want something sweet to eat. Is there cake downstairs?’ I ask meekly.

‘Hello, sleepyhead,’ says Simon. He frees himself from Julia and walks towards me in the bed.

‘I just came up to wake you and Julia followed me up here.’ He starts to ruffle my hair. ‘She always wants something sweet to eat when she falls asleep in the day.’

‘Yeah, but it’s not exactly the daytime is it? It’s gone eleven,’ says Julia.

‘What?’ I holler like an angry witch.

‘It’s twenty-five past eleven,’ says Julia, looking at her watch.

‘Have I missed all the dancing?’ I say, my bottom lip quivering.

‘Nah, there’s probably still some people dancing,’ says Simon kindly.

‘Have I missed Nikki and Bertrand leaving for their honeymoon?’

Julia nods sadly at me.

‘I didn’t say goodbye,’ I whine.

‘They tried to wake you. In the end they just got the photographer up here to take some photos,’ says Si. He laughs until he sees my face crease.

‘And the throwing of the bouquet?’ I hiccup.

‘I caught it!’ laughs Julia.

‘What about my usher?’

‘I think he went, Sare,’ says Si, giving me a cuddle.

‘I need water.’

I climb out of bed, pick up my bag and leave the room. I’ve slept through my friend’s wedding. My best friend caught the bouquet and will probably marry my flatmate whom I just had a beautiful dream about. I’ll be alone for ever. I am tired, emotional and melodramatic. I let the tears start to fall. I check my phone. A message from Paul.

Sarah, I miss you. I am single, honestly! And I would love to see you.

It was sent two hours ago. I am drunk and half asleep. I shouldn’t do it. I shouldn’t do it. I know I shouldn’t do it. But I do. I do. I dial his number.

‘Sarah,’ he gasps. I can hear busy bar noises and then the sound of traffic as he takes the call outside.

‘Now then, Sarah, I thought we’d agreed that you would stop calling me and emailing me all the time.’

‘Hello,’ I giggle. ‘Very funny.’

‘I had a while to work on that gag. Didn’t know whether you’d give me a chance to use it. I’m very glad you did.’

‘Hmm.’

‘Where are you?’ he says urgently.

‘A hotel on Mayfair, at a wedding.’

‘I’m not far from you. Shall I get a cab to you?’ he says.

There is a rational-thought recession.