The Glass Dome. I can’t possibly go there. What if Alex is there with Penelope? I will die of embarrassment. I just couldn’t bear to see him with her. I look at Bridget Jones who is now flirting unmercifully with Hugh Grant. I
switch it off. I drag my heavy body into the bedroom and heave myself into a Christian Dior dress that mother bought me last Christmas and which, until today, I had not been able to squeeze over my breasts. I then lazily blow-dry my hair and drag it up into a messy bun before applying some lipstick and blusher. I spend some time looking at the earrings Alex gave me and finally put them on. I
flop back down on the bed and sigh. I really don’t want to go to the Glass Dome. I don’t believe this. A few weeks ago I would have given anything to be invited to the Glass Dome for the New Year’s Eve party. Only three weeks ago I was desperate to go with Toby. I even had high hopes I would be engaged to him by New Year.
Thirty minutes later,
Issy bursts in with Jonathan and within moments
my bedroom looks like a bomb has hit it as Issy empties my wardrobe.
‘Are you mad?’ she reprimands.
‘You can’t go in that. You look like an old frump. Are you out of your mind?’
‘I really can’t go Issy, what if Alex is…’
She gives me a cold look.
‘How will you meet anyone new if you’re frightened to go places?’
I pout.
‘Where’s your Wonderbra?’ she asks and I feel tears welling up again.
‘Don’t talk about my
Wonderbra. It
reminds me of Alex,’ I whimper.
She gives me an odd look.
‘What about these?’ she says hopefully, holding up a two piece.
‘No, the top is too low and my tits fall out.’
‘You’d be surprised the number of men that go for that,’ she laughs.
I give her a cross look and pull out the Jigsaw dress I had bought for the Christmas dinner.
‘Perfect,’ she smiles.
She hands me a bra, which thankfully is not my Wonderbra. I turn and step into the dress.
‘Has Jonathan seen Alex?’ I ask, turning for her to zip it up.
‘No, I don’t think Alex has been in contact with anyone since we got back. He’s been busy announcing his wedding, don’t forget.’
I wince.
‘Don’t remind me,’ I sigh.
‘Have you been drinking?’
I titter.
‘Ooh yes, and I’ve been mixing my drinks. I’ve been drinking wine and black all evening.’
‘Is that sensible?’ she tuts.
God, she sounds like my mother.
‘Issy, it’s wine and blackcurrant juice, not an A class drug,’ I say with a sense of déjà vu.
She drags me into the living room. I am grateful to get away from the hellish sight of my bedroom.
‘Hello,’ says Jonathan, looking slightly uncomfortable,
fiddling with his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. It is uncomfortably warm in the cottage. No, actually, it is bloody boiling in the cottage. I have had the heating on high for the past eight hours and it’s like a sauna. I throw back the last of my wine and allow Issy to drag me outside, where the cold air hits me with such force that I reel. Issy guides me by the arm to the waiting taxi. I
feel the effects of the wine and realise I am a little drunk.
‘I’ve got duck eggs,’ I announce.
‘How lovely,’ responds Issy.
‘I didn’t know Alex was a major, did you know that?’ I think I am shouting
as
Issy backs away slightly.
She shakes her head and pushes me into the taxi.
‘Her father’s got a BCG, did you know that? I mean how snotty is that?’
‘Snooty,’ she corrects.
‘I think she means a CBE,’ says Jonathan.
What does he mean, she? Excuse me, I am here, you don’t need to talk over me. Then, to make matters doubly worse, they get all romantic in the back seat. Issy snuggles up close to him and all I can hear are lip-smacking noises. I make a determined effort not to look. Hearing it is enough, seeing it as well will just have me throwing up into my handbag. Don’t you just hate smug loving couples? Even worse, don’t you just hate smug loving couples on New Year’s Eve? It
feels to me like the whole world is full of smug loving couples and
they are all going to the Glass Dome for New Year’s Eve. Hundreds of couples, all holding hands and sidling up close to each other push into the overdecorated building. I predict I will be the only one not getting shagged tonight. I must be the only singleton here.
‘Everyone is with someone,’ I whisper to Issy, thinking how that
sounds like a song title.
‘Don’t be silly, there are loads of single people here,’ she says unconvincingly.
Oh God, to think I’ve got to be here for another three and a half hours. I would much rather be at home watching
New Year with Julian Clary
. Maybe I can get stuck in a lift or something. Anything would be preferable to standing around with lots of smug, drunk couples who can’t keep their hands off each other. I feel quite nauseous.
‘Who’s that?’ whispers Issy, as I trip up the steps and grab the back of Jonathan’s trousers for support.
I look to where her blood-red painted fingernail is pointing. A tall handsome man is looking over at us and I recognise him as the man who had been in Dirty Doug’s with Alex.
‘Keep moving,’ I hiss pushing Jonathan roughly from behind. ‘I don’t want him to see me.’
After what feels like an endless flight of stairs, we push our way through the throng of smug loving couples and find ourselves in the ‘Princeton’ room where the New Year’s party is in full swing with couples smooching on the dance floor to Jimmy Durante’s ‘As Time Goes By.’ I
grab a glass of champagne from a passing tray and knock it back in one fell swoop. Issy and Jonathan disappear onto the dance floor and I am left alone. God, I’ve only been here five minutes and I’m a wallflower. I look around nervously for any sign of Alex and premier league Penelope. There doesn’t seem to be any sign of them and I gratefully sway towards a chair. I plonk myself down and place my champagne glass carefully on the nearby table which
is piled high with wedding magazines.
‘Great idea isn’t it?’ yells a woman who has placed herself in front of me.
Bloody stupid idea if you ask me.
‘Yes, brilliant.’
‘I’m having my wedding dress made. I want lots of lace and pearls,’ she says smiling widely and showing me lots of gum.
‘Lovely,’ I say, attempting to gush but it sounds more
like a tiny retch. Why I am feeling so horrid? It isn’t her fault I have chucked my boyfriend and lost the man I love to the daughter of a CBE.
‘I’m having a joint wedding with my twin,’ she tells me.
God, how dysfunctional is that. A tray of drinks floats by and I quickly grab another glass and take a long gulp, immediately sneezing as the bubbles get up my nose. She gapes at me and then takes a small sip of her own. I feel mortally ashamed. At least she is getting married, joint or otherwise. That’s more than I’m doing.
‘I’m not having a wedding of any kind, joint or otherwise,’ I say hearing my words slur.
She sits beside me and gently takes my hand in hers.
I shall be blubbering into my champagne next.
‘Oh poor you, did you get chucked?’
‘Yes,’ I blubber, ‘I kind of chucked and got chucked all at the same time, although I didn’t mean to chuck…’
‘Honestly men, they can be such bastards.’
I feel myself nodding so
emphatically that my head starts to thump.
‘Yes, I mean, the one I chucked, or didn’t really chuck used me as a plaything, and then he goes and plans his wedding to his socialite girlfriend who…’
‘What a pig,’ she says waving her fist in the air and sending a tray of savouries flying. One lands on my lap and I pop it into my mouth.
‘Yes, he would slice your tongue out with a pencil, he’s that mean.’
She gulps. That sounded all wrong. It isn’t a pencil is it? I know it’s pen something. I finish the wine in the hope it will help me think.
‘And her father is CPW, whereas mine is…’
I struggle to remember. This is awful. I can’t remember what my father is. She claps a hand over her mouth.
‘Charles, Prince of Wales?’ she gasps.
‘No, my father isn’t the Prince of Wales.’
She shakes my hand.
‘No, you said her father was.’
‘Was what?’
God, it’s enough that I can’t remember what my father is without her questioning me on everyone else’s.
‘The socialite, you said her father was CPW.’
Oh God.
‘Oh, no he isn’t that grand, at least I don’t think he is. I’ve never actually met him.’
Can we please get off the subject of Penelope? I see Toby walking towards us and grab a copy of
Brides
magazine. I sit staring at little net underskirts for bridesmaids when he says.
‘Hello Jasmine, how are you?’
Christ, has he forgotten my name already? I lower the magazine to see him kissing the woman on her cheek. He gives me a lopsided grin.
‘Looking at more brides’ dresses, Libby?’
Jasmine stares at me in wonder.
‘Oh Toby, is this your girlfriend, Libby?’ she asks, looking all intimidated and star truck. I attempt to stand up in manner of celebrity but my head
spins and I fall back down. Toby coughs nervously and smiles at me.
‘Libby, this is Jasmine. She works on the paper.’
‘Only the letters page,’ she says apologetically. ‘You’re an agent aren’t you for Randal and Hobson. I didn’t realise you and Toby… Oh God, I’m so sorry. Have you made up?’
She lets out a tiny sob and I put a comforting hand on her arm. The DJ is yelling for everyone to take the dance floor for the next romantic smooch and I see her glancing around for her fiancé.
‘Oh,’ she swoons, ‘this is our song.’
I feel myself go all maudlin when I realise I don’t have a song with anyone. How pathetic is that?
‘Would you like to dance?’ asks Toby, removing the drink from my hand. ‘Or are you here with someone?’
I’m about to ask him the same question when I spot Serena glaring at me from the opposite side of the room. He swings me onto the dance floor and straight into his arms. We sway slowly around the room and I struggle to find somewhere for my arms rather than around his neck but there is no way out it seems. If I let my hands dangle at my sides they brush his hips, which seems much worse than winding them around his neck.
‘You look terrific,’ he whispers with
one eye peering
at Serena. ‘The sexiest woman in the room is dancing with me.’
I step on his foot and he winces.
‘And the clumsiest,’ I giggle, feeling I have had enough to drink but wishing I could get just one more glass. From the corner of my eye I see Issy
shaking her head. It’s all very well for her to shake her head. She has a partner for the evening. There is nothing worse than being a wallflower.
‘You didn’t really mean those things you said yesterday did you? Who will you watch Woody Allen films with now?’ he says softly into my ear, while trying to nibble at it. I shudder at his kisses and feel my arms wrap tighter around his neck as the music and atmosphere overtake me.
‘You still want me, you know you do. I’ll do whatever you want Libs. I won’t nag about diets any more. If you stay the way you are, you will be perfect anyway.’
‘Toby, I don’t know what to say.’
The truth is I not only don’t know what to say, I actually seem incapable of saying anything. In fact, if I don’t eat something soon I shall be incapable of walking.
‘Just say you will give me another chance?’
‘Well, I…’
I’m beginning to think giving Toby another chance isn’t such a bad idea. I could work hard at staying on my diet and things could be just the way they used to be. We can put the whole Cambodia trip to the back of our minds and in years to come when Alex is on television talking about his books and his activism I can point to him and tell my children how I once knew him and had an adventure. I could help Toby with his writing. It could all be really cosy and loving and I start picturing our marriage like a scene from a movie. Toby tapping away at a typewriter (okay a bit old fashioned but this is how it looks in my drunken daydream) while I’m towelling down our youngest. We smile at each other and Toby asks my advice on the article he is writing and I give a very insightful reply. Toby’s lips are softly brushing my cheek now and I sway slightly as my daydream overtakes me.
‘We’ve still got to give each other Christmas presents haven’t we?’ he whispers huskily. ‘God, I know what I want to give you.’
Good heavens and I can feel it too as it presses firmly against my thigh. He turns my head so I am looking into his eyes. His lips hover above mine for just a second and then gently they touch. His hand pushes on my buttocks and I gasp. At that
moment
Serena
lunges towards me and takes me down in some kind of rugby tackle. It is at moments like these that I think being a wallflower is maybe not so bad after all.
‘You scheming, conniving little bitch,’ she screams into my ear. Her alcohol-fumed breath almost knocks me sideways.
What a bloody cheek. He was my boyfriend first after all. Her fingernails are clawing at my dress and slowly making their way towards my face. My God, she is demented. Her hands grab my head and she attempts to bang it to the floor. There are gasps and lots of oohs and ahs but no bugger attempts to rescue me. I slap her hard across the face sending her reeling back
and while she recovers I
jump up. Not bad for someone half pissed.
‘Let’s get one thing straight,’ I cry angrily. ‘I’m not the scheming, conniving little bitch. You are. You were seeing my boyfriend when he was still with me.’
The music stops and a small crowd have gathered. I frankly couldn’t care less any more. I’m sick and tired of everyone taking advantage of me. Serena is leaning on Toby for support, and Toby is looking wide-eyed and open-mouthed at me. Serena’s cheek is quite red and I feel rather guilty for hitting her so hard. I look past her to the array of sparkling baubles that hang from the ceiling. I have to blink several times to get them into focus.