All the Single Ladies (39 page)

‘Ben!’

He pauses and smiles. ‘The answer is yes, he was enjoying himself, and he seemed impressed. Obviously, I left him under no illusions that you were the genius behind this
extravaganza.’

‘Oh stop – I’m serious.’

‘I’m serious too,’ he grins. ‘He was having a whale of a time – apart from being hounded by a woman about a speech.’

Suddenly, I am grabbed by the arm with a grip that could rival that of a shot-putter.

‘Right, my loves, Kevin S. Chasen wants me to say a few words before him,’ Lorelei declares. ‘So it’s time to do my stuff. And you need to introduce me.’

I respond with a sneeze. ‘Er, okay, Lorelei,’ I reply, trying to look unmoved. I hate public speaking and normally I’d employ a formal announcer to do this, but Lorelei’s
budget put paid to that. ‘Have you prepared a speech?’

‘You’re kidding, aren’t you, babe?’ she laughs. ‘I can talk to Olympic standard. I don’t need to write something in advance.’

I suppress another sneeze and feel my eyes swelling up. ‘Would you like me to say anything in particular?’

‘Describe me as one of the leading female figures in the north west.’ She pauses and thinks. ‘If not the north.’ She thinks again. ‘If not
the
leading female
figure.’ I try to work out if she’s joking. It appears not. ‘Then I think you should explain how I was brought up on a council estate in south Wales and – although
I’ve become the mega-success I am today – I’ve never forgotten my roots.’

I sneeze, and hold my tissue to my nose. ‘O-kay.’

‘And you should also mention that I’m an inspiration to everyone who meets me.’ She pauses and glares at me. ‘Obviously, it needs to be clear that this is your
description, not mine. I don’t want to look like a bighead.’

‘Of course— Aitchoo! Though I’ll keep the intro relatively short, don’t you think? We’re on a tight timescale and I don’t want to encroach on what you have to
say.’

She turns up her nose and thinks. ‘Good point. Off you go.’

I take a deep breath and make my way to the stage, feeling my blood turn to molten lava. Although my speech is going to be significantly shorter than Lorelei’s requested eulogy, I’m
as nervous as hell. I stumble up the steps and take the mike.

‘Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen,’ I begin, and precisely nobody turns to look. ‘Hi. . . Could I have everyone’s attention, please?’ Despite the tinge of
desperation in my voice, the only soul paying attention is Ben, who already looks mortified on my behalf.

‘Right,’ I begin again, determined to say something to get everyone to shut up. However, I don’t need to say anything – because nature takes over. My chest rises, my eyes
close . . . and I explode with such a devastating sneeze it nearly melts the speakers.

The room falls silent. ‘Bloody hell,’ says Deana helpfully.

‘Sorry about that,’ I mumble, flushing. ‘Erm, I’d like to introduce a woman who needs no introduction. She’s one of the leading female figures in the north, if not
the north west. I mean— Aitchoo!’

When I look up, Lorelei is glaring at me. ‘She’s never forgotten her roots, despite living on a council estate.’ Her eyes widen. ‘She doesn’t live on a council
estate now, of course. God, no!’ I laugh. Then sneeze. ‘At least, I don’t think so. Without further ado, please let me introduce the Director of International Marketing for Teen
SOS, Ms Lorelei Beer.’

There is a smattering of applause as Lorelei storms onto the stage. I meet her on the second step, and she snatches the mike from my hand then whirls past me as I prepare to make my getaway.

Except that I’m going nowhere. Instead of slipping anonymously into the crowd, a sharp yank to my head forces me to stumble back onto the stage. It feels exactly like a move undertaken on
various first-formers by Alison Hardface, my old school’s resident bully. Although Lorelei Beer is a lot scarier. And it’s her diamanté brooch in which my hairpiece is caught
up.

‘Hiya, ladies and gentlemen, my loves!’ she booms, momentarily unaware that I’m bent double and attached to her right shoulder.

I grab my hairpiece with both hands and, to the delight of the audience, who appear to think this is a comedy prelude to the main act, wrestle with its strands, as if I’m being held
ransom.

Lorelei turns and looks at me. Then, taking matters into her own hands, she attempts to disentangle my headwear from her jewellery. To the increasing hysteria of the crowd she tugs and pulls, I
twist and turn. I’m writhing in agony and shame when I finally manage to disengage. My head is throbbing as I dust myself off, straighten my back and, with as much dignity as possible, step
casually down the stairs.

Lorelei’s speech begins, but I barely hear it. Instead, I stride to the other side of the room, where I catch a glimpse of my hairpiece in the mirror. It is standing a foot above my head,
like a small-scale re-creation of the
The Wicker Man
.

I never get to subtly quiz Ben about being ‘in a relationship’. I don’t even get to say goodbye properly. I manage only a perfunctory wave as he heads to the
exit while Lorelei launches into a diatribe about the disaster with my hairpiece.

Not that I can blame her. And, although I’m aware that her unrelenting nit-picking – about everything from the Wasabi on one of the canapés to the choice of air freshener in
the ladies’ loos – isn’t reasonable, it hardly matters.

My client isn’t happy and that’s all that counts. Plus, I have no idea if she witnessed Deana and Natalie disappearing early on the arms of two Premiership footballers –
presumably for a strenuous session of something that had little to do with soccer.

None of this alleviates my mood when I meet Jen for a late drink after the event.

It’s gone one o’clock and I’m as tired as hell, but she’s just finished a late shift and I feel a need to catch up, even if it’s only for half an hour before we
both collapse into bed.

‘I cannot believe what’s been happening in your life lately,’ she sighs. ‘I feel so stupid now, texting you about my daft romantic problems. My troubles are nothing
compared with yours. Ellie needs to know this and stop being so silly,’ she frowns.

‘Has she been in touch?’ I ask.

‘Hardly at all. She’s avoiding me too, I’m certain of it. Mind you, I’ve hardly been good company lately.’

‘Don’t be silly, sweetheart. We’re all here for each other, aren’t we? Come on, fill me in on what’s been happening.’

She swallows. ‘I split up with Dan on Friday and it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It was the last thing I wanted to do, but I came to the conclusion that, while
he’s a lovely, caring, fantastic person, he’s bad for me.’

I bite my lip. ‘In what sense?’

‘In the sense that he likes me but doesn’t love me. I, on the other hand, think I love him. The real deal. And you simply can’t have that imbalance in a relationship. Even
someone as feckless as me knows that. So I dumped him.’

‘What was his reaction?’

She takes a deep breath. ‘He tried to persuade me to change my mind. He couldn’t work out what was going on because he thought I was as relaxed about the situation as he was. I
don’t want to be his bed-buddy, Sam. I want to be his girlfriend.’

‘You’ve got every right to want that.’

‘I know. But it’s killing me. Having been so aloof for so many weeks, now that I’ve dumped him he’s texting me all the time, calling me. Every time he bumps into me in
the corridor at work, he asks me for coffee. And I’ve resisted, even though I just want to dive into his arms and smother him with kisses.’

‘If he’s that keen, isn’t he worth a second chance?’

She shrugs. ‘If he was that keen, the idea of committing wouldn’t make him recoil in horror. He’d
do or say something that showed me how much I meant to him. But, unfortunately, I’m one hundred per cent certain of what I mean to him: a good shag. That’s what he misses. He’s
made that perfectly clear.’

I wake the next morning and look up at the ceiling as thoughts occur like light bulbs being switched on, one by one. Jamie. Ben. Last night’s event. Jen. And Ellie. Oh
Ellie.

She knows nothing about what’s going on in my life. And I know nothing about hers. Plus, what Jen said last night – about Ellie avoiding her too – troubles me deeply. All Jen
and I want is to help her; yet to accept our help would mean admitting she has an issue. The fact that Ellie’s clearly so far from doing that is even more worrying than the disintegration of
our friendship.

I decide to drive to her house after work, though I’m certain it’s a futile exercise. When I get there and ring the bell, it’s like a scene from
Groundhog Day
. Despite
the shuffling inside, nobody answers.

Dejected, I turn and head down the drive, then the door opens. I spin round to see Alistair looking clean but crumpled.

‘Sorry, Sam. You caught me as I was getting out of the shower. Come in. Ellie won’t be long; she’s at the supermarket with Sophie.’ I hesitate. ‘Come on. I’ll
stick the kettle on. Or do you want a glass of wine? It’s never too early in this house,’ he grins.

‘Tea’s fine,’ I reply, entering the house.

‘Before I forget, I’m off to a conference for a few days at the end of next week,’ he says. ‘Why don’t you pop over one night to keep Ellie company?’

I smile. ‘That’d be great.’

‘Oh, and don’t leave without me finally lending you
The Wire
on DVD. The dialogue takes some getting used to, but persevere and you’ll get into it. It’s
brilliant.’

‘Er, sure. Thanks.’ Enough is enough: I have to confront Alistair. ‘Listen, I need to talk to you about Ellie.’

‘Oh?’ he says idly, pouring water from the kettle into two mugs.

‘I’ve been in two minds about whether to raise this.’

‘It’s not like you to be backward in coming forward, Sam,’ he laughs, straining out a tea bag.

I swallow, taking a seat. ‘Okay. Well, it’s about her—’

‘We’re home!’

Ellie’s voice echoes through the house, followed by the slam of the door.

A few seconds later, Sophie runs into the room. ‘Auntie Sam! Santa Claus is going to bring me a golf set.’

I scoop her up in my arms as Ellie walks in after her. ‘You don’t want a Barbie any more, then?’

‘Nope,’ she replies firmly. ‘A golf set. Or telescope. Or Transformers.’

‘Hi, Sam!’ Ellie says it as brightly as possible, glancing nervously at Alistair. The forced joviality is obviously for his benefit.

‘How’re things, Ellie? I thought I’d pop over after work to say hi.’

‘I’ll get you that DVD,’ Alistair says, disappearing briefly into the living room and returning with
The Wire
, before starting on tonight’s dinner. It’s
clear that he’s failed to notice the strain between Ellie and me. The falseness. The fact that we’re pretending everything’s okay, when everything’s far from it.

The time it takes to drink my tea is the longest twenty minutes I’ve ever lived through. Under normal circumstances I’d be frothing over to fill her in about what’s happened in
my life. But it doesn’t seem right, particularly with Sophie running about and Alistair hovering.

‘I’d better get Sophie into the bath,’ says Ellie eventually.

‘Of course,’ I reply, taking the hint. I stand up and heave my bag over my shoulder.

‘I’ll see you out,’ she adds, picking up Sophie as we head into the hall.

My heart is hammering. ‘Some stuff’s been going on between Jamie and me,’ I blurt out.

‘Oh . . . what? Jen mentioned something but I assumed it was just teething troubles after he’d moved in again. It’s not something serious, is it?’ She looks concerned,
with the same expression she had when I turned up here on the night he first left and stood hugging her in this very spot in the hall. It brings back a flood of memories – and a million more
emotions.

‘We’ve split up again. He cheated on me, with Dorrie. His South America trip is back on.’

Her jaw almost hits the floor. ‘Go and see Daddy, will you, sweetheart?’ she says, putting Sophie down. The little girl scurries away.

‘Oh God, Sam, I’m so sorry. Come here,’ she says, putting her arms around me. As she squeezes me, I wonder if this is it – if everything’s going to be okay between
us from now on.

‘About . . . the other thing,’ I begin, but she shakes her head and backs away.

‘I’ve got to go. I’m sorry about Jamie. Give me a ring and we’ll talk about that, shall we?’ she smiles anxiously.

As I head down the drive to my car, I feel a wave of relief that my friend is talking to me. About some things, at least. But the overwhelming feeling I get from her parting words is that her
drinking is still firmly off the agenda.

Over the next few days, the countdown to Jamie’s South America trip feels like it’s happening at the speed with which Clark Kent gets into his undies and tights.
He’s leaving me now, for good. I know that not even a tiny part of me should want him back. But a part of me does, and it isn’t tiny.

At the same time, I’m bombarded with thoughts about Ben. About how, despite the fact that it was me who drove him into the arms of another woman, part of me wants him back too. Working out
who I want more is as impossible as it is futile. Since neither man is interested in having me.

That hurts like hell.

I’m also dreading the official feedback from Lorelei after the Teen SOS event. If the abuse she gave me after the party itself was anything to go by, it’s going to be catastrophic.
And, given that I was counting on her booking us for several other events during the next year, this is not going to be good for my attempt to hit my targets. But she’s in New York until the
end of next week so hopefully will have time to calm down about the whole thing.

As ever, I’ve got a million things to do. But craving a diversion like never before, I arrange to meet Jen for lunch at the Quarter.

‘My main discovery in the last ten days or so has been that men have a sixth sense,’ Jen declares, as a new waiter bats his eyelids before serving her salad.

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Every time I convince myself I’m happy without Dan and would be better off if he never got in touch . . . he gets in touch. I swear, all it takes is for me to play the opening bars
of “Fighter” by Christina Aguilera and the phone rings.’