Playing by the Rules (2 page)

Indeed, once she was safely behind the closed door of Jo’s guest room, Kate decided it would probably be best for whatever remained of her dignity if she stayed there for the rest of her holiday.

But she’d reckoned without Jo. Jo Marchant had always been good at getting her own way, but while Kate had been in Paris she had apparently elevated ‘not taking no for an answer’ into an art form. So, within an hour of Kate’s escape, Josh was gone – packed off to their parents’ place, in spite of his protests – and Kate was no longer curled up in her room, stroking a forgiving Cleopatra and thinking up reasons
not
to go to the reunion.

Instead, she was standing, wearing nothing but a strapless bra and undies, in front of Jo’s mirror, watching her friend rummage through an overstuffed wardrobe for, in her words, ‘something decent for you to wear’.

Given how far Jo had got her already, Kate was fairly sure that she’d be wasting her breath, but she thought she should at least try to object. New Kate would.

‘You know, Jo, I’m really not sure I’m up for this.’

As she suspected, she might as well have appealed to the sleeping Cleo for all the sympathy she got.

‘Rubbish! You’re just having an attack of the LBBs,’ came the stern, if somewhat muffled reply. ‘Something decent’ was obviously proving difficult.

‘Now,’ Jo continued, emerging flushed, but triumphant. ‘What do you think of this one?’

Kate pretended to consider it.

‘Not your colour.’

Jo stuck her tongue out at her.

‘Smartarse! If you’re going to be like that, you can try on the high heels of death, too. Go on! Put it on. I’ll find the shoes.’

Kate obediently tried to work out which way was up in the slinky bronze thing Jo had thrust at her. She had not made much progress when Jo reappeared with a wicked-looking pair of strappy gold stilettos.

‘Found’em! Aren’t you in that yet? Where did you learn to dress? Here, let me help.’

With a few deft tugs, Jo settled the drapery around Kate and stood back to admire her handiwork.

‘Good. Now put these shoes on. I’m sure I’ve got earrings to go with them, somewhere.’

Kate felt she was fighting a losing battle, but she made another effort.

‘What do you mean, “LBBs”, anyway?’

Jo had disappeared into the wardrobe again, so it was a disembodied voice that answered.

‘LBB stands for Loser Boyfriend Blues. It is caught from Loser Boyfriends – naturally – and it is what you have been indulging in ever since you got here. Ouch! What is
that
doing there?’ There was a short pause while Jo wrestled a large fishing rod out into the daylight. Kate chose not to ask and Jo continued as though there had been no interruption. ‘You know . . . “My boyfriend’s left me! What did I do wrong? I must have done something wrong! What does she have that I don’t have? Am I ugly? What’s the matter with me? All my friends are getting married, and I can’t even keep a boyfriend . . .” Sound familiar?’

Kate stopped in the middle of tying the long strap of one shoe, and looked in the direction of her friend’s voice. Jo’s whiny litany certainly
did
sound familiar. Hadn’t she been thinking along those lines just this morning? But surely she wasn’t that bad? Surely she didn’t really think like that?

Horror-struck, she clamped her hand over her mouth as she realised that not only had she been
thinking
like that, she must have been
talking
like that, too. Obviously she must, for Jo to be able to rattle it off so glibly. Hearing it from someone else, it wasn’t very attractive. And it wasn’t even in the same ballpark as the devil-may-care attitude she was hoping to perfect before she went home.

She didn’t have time to think about it, though, as the disembodied voice had not finished.

‘Of course, it never occurs to the LBB sufferer that, in fact, there is nothing wrong with her, apart from a regrettable taste in loser men.’

This stung.

‘Alain is not a loser!’

Jo (having finally emerged from the wardrobe) fixed Kate with a stern stare.

‘Hon, he took you out for dinner, the night before you were due to start your lovely summer holidays together, and told you he was in love with someone else. What would
you
call him?’

Nothing printable
, thought Kate murderously, wincing at the memory of that night. Although she’d called him plenty at the time.

Fortunately, Jo didn’t seem to require an answer. Dumping a shoebox full of earrings on her bed, she gave Kate a quick hug and steamrolled on.

‘Never mind! I have a sure-fire cure for the blues, and you, my dear, are
almost
wearing it.’

‘What do you mean, “wearing it”?’

‘
Almost
wearing it, I said. A fabulous outfit, of course.’

In spite of herself, Kate had to laugh.

‘Is that your answer to everything?’

‘Is what my answer to everything?’ replied Jo, rummaging through the sparkly pile on the bed. ‘Do you think the pearls, or the plain gold? No, don’t answer that, it’s definitely the plain gold for you,’ she said, discarding the others.

‘Is there anything you think a fabulous outfit can’t fix?’

‘Not much. Stand still, can’t you? And hold your hair out of the way.’

‘And now,’ she said, having finished attaching two extravagantly large gold earrings to Kate’s ears, ‘I rest my case.’

Jo spun her friend around to face the full-length mirror.

Kate gasped. The outfit was definitely
something
. The soft bronzy stuff of the dress was suspended from a gold ring on one of her shoulders, but from the way it was hugging her curvy bits she suspected it would stay up of its own accord. Kate had long since come to terms with curviness being a fact of her life, but she’d never seen it like this before. Now every undulation of her body was outlined in a colour somewhere between autumn leaves and her hair, in a fabric that shimmered and caught the light as she moved. The dress seemed simultaneously to cover and reveal everything.

To her surprise, once she got over the shock, she found it didn’t look bad at all. But it didn’t look like her. She looked like someone else. Someone dangerous.

‘Jo, I can’t wear this to the reunion!’

‘What, you’re going to wear it to do the gardening in?’

‘No, of course not! I’m just not sure it’s exactly . . . 
me.
’

‘Me, schmee! You want to make a good impression, don’t you?’

‘Of course, but . . .’

‘No buts! Listen, Kate, you’ve been moping around long enough. Are you going to let that bastard ruin your entire holiday, or are you going to get a grip, move on and have some fun?’

Kate had a brief mental image of Alain getting a grip and moving on with Sophie. Jo was right. It was time for her to pull herself together. Hadn’t she been telling herself the same thing? She squared her shoulders and looked her friend in the eye.

‘Fun,’ she answered firmly. ‘I want to have some fun.’

‘Well then?’ It was a challenge.

Kate turned and looked again at her reflection. It certainly wasn’t her usual style, but wasn’t that exactly what she had decided she needed? And it did look pretty good. Glamorous, even. No more Ms Mousy Kate! She turned to her friend with a smile.

‘All right – I’ll do it!’

‘Attagirl! Now get out of that rig, so we can do your hair.’

Kate was complying when she remembered something that the dress had temporarily driven out of her mind.

‘Jo, I can’t go – I don’t have a partner.’

Jo looked up from untangling the cords of more hairstyling equipment than Kate had ever seen outside of a hairdresser.

‘Why should that stop you?’

Kate sank onto the bed among the earrings, suddenly exhausted again. She fiddled with the jewellery, avoiding Jo’s eyes. ‘Because I told them I was bringing . . . when I replied to the invitation . . . I told them I was bringing . . .’

‘Who? Alain? If anybody asks, just tell them he couldn’t come. I doubt anyone will remember, much less care.’

‘No, you don’t understand. I didn’t give his name. I said I was bringing my fiancé.’

Jo stopped fiddling with the hairdryer and stared at her.

‘Why on earth would you say that?’

Kate felt a tear form in the corner of her eye and blinked furiously.

‘Because I thought by now I’d have one.’

‘What?’ For a moment, Jo looked bemused, then understanding dawned on her face. ‘Oh, no, hon, you didn’t! You thought he was going to ask you to marry him? And then he dumped you? Oh, poor baby. But what made you think he was going to propose?’

Kate wrenched a tissue from the box on Jo’s bedside table and blew her nose.

‘He made a reservation at my favourite restaurant. The expensive one that he normally says we can’t afford. He
never
makes reservations. Especially not there. What was I supposed to think?’

Jo perched on the bed, carefully avoiding the pointier bits of earring. ‘Oh dear. Although . . .’ She leaned over and patted Kate’s knee. ‘You know, hon, looking on the bright side, if he’s that cheap, maybe it’s just as well he didn’t ask.’

‘Jo!’

Jo shrugged. ‘I call’em as I see’em, hon. And if he won’t go to a restaurant that’s your favourite just because it’s a bit expensive, he’s not worthy of you.’

Kate heard a thin wailing noise and was horrified to realise it had come from her.

‘But it was
time
!’

Jo raised her eyebrows.

‘Time?’

‘Well, we’d been going out for a year and everything was going well and I just thought . . .’

The words petered out as Jo’s eyebrows threatened to disappear into her hairline.

‘Kate Adams, are you telling me you had this relationship on a
schedule
?’

‘No! Not exactly. But you know how I like to plan! I like to know what’s going on. To have a timeline and a plan and . . .’ She stopped again, aware she was repeating herself. And sounding ever so slightly like a crazy person.

Kate grabbed another tissue, ostensibly to blow again, but really to avoid Jo’s scrutiny.

Jo leaned forward and pulled Kate’s hand away from her face.

‘So tell me, my mental little plan-freak, did you buy the ring?’

‘No! Of course not!’

‘Did you have it picked out?’

Kate paused a fraction too long and Jo clapped triumphantly.

‘Ha! I knew it!’

Kate gave up any hope of plausible denial.

‘Well, what’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with wanting to get married? What’s wrong with wanting to be loved?’

‘Oh, hon, nothing. But . . .’ She squeezed Kate’s hand. ‘Do you not think maybe you’re taking this whole quest-for-love thing a touch too seriously? Love is supposed to be fun! It’s supposed to be spontaneous and to make you smile. It’s not supposed to leave you like . . . well, like this,’ she finished, gesturing to Kate’s tear-damp face.

Kate scrubbed her face with her hands and managed a watery facsimile of a smile.

‘You know me, Jo. I’ve never been much good at spontaneous.’

Jo smiled back and squeezed her hands again.

‘Never mind. You can learn. You’re good at learning – or so all those degrees would suggest. Now, let me see . . .’ She jumped up and began pacing the room, hands clasped and forefingers tapping together as she thought out loud. ‘Clearly, this is more than an outfit can handle. It’s a good start, but if you’re going to get your mojo back we need something more.’

Kate wasn’t sure that she’d ever had any mojo. Not if mojo meant the kind of sexual confidence that seemed to hover around Jo like a halo. Even in high school she’d had it. Of course, in those days, it had frightened off as many boys as it attracted. But it had to be better than feeling like a mousy little nobody, as Kate had.

Much as Jo loved her, Kate was pretty sure Jo hadn’t really understood how she’d felt then, or how easy it was for her to feel that way still.

After all, it wasn’t as though she’d ever stopped being mousy. She hadn’t needed to. When she was a poor student, no-one had expected her to be glamorous. Then she became an academic. In her profession, even in France, being ‘hot’ didn’t do you any favours. In fact, as a woman, if you wanted your ideas to be taken seriously, a certain amount of dowdiness helped. So she’d embraced her inner mouse and learned to be fine with it. She didn’t love it, exactly, but it was comfortable.

‘I’ve got it!’

Kate jumped and felt the pile of earrings slide down the bedspread to rest against her leg.

‘You need to have a fling!’

Kate stopped trying to fend off the earrings.

‘A what?!’

‘A fling.’ Jo gestured expansively. ‘You know . . . a snog with someone you’ll never see again. A carefree couple of days with a handsome stranger. A one-night stand. Surely you’re familiar with the concept?’

‘Jo!’

‘What?’

‘I don’t do one-night stands!’

Jo grinned at her.

‘I know. I just wanted to check you were paying attention. Okay, you can skip the one-night stand. But I still think you should do the rest. You need a no-strings-attached date or five. It’s absolutely the best way to get a loser boyfriend out of your system. You could start with the reunion.’

Kate opened her mouth to argue, but shut it again without speaking.

Maybe Jo was right. She had wanted something to boost her confidence and send her back to work looking like a woman with a secret. Maybe a fling was exactly what she needed. Maybe this was the plan she had been looking for. Kate felt her spirits lift . . . and sink again, as she spotted the flaw.

‘Jo, I think I can see a problem.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Where exactly am I supposed to find a handsome stranger at short notice?’

‘Oh, I’m sure I can think of something.’

Kate didn’t like the look on Jo’s face. Unless she was mistaken, she had already thought of something and she was looking entirely too pleased with herself for Kate’s peace of mind.

‘Bearing in mind that whoever you pick might be mistaken for my fiancé.’

Jo waved an elegant hand dismissively. ‘Like I said, I sincerely doubt anyone will remember who you said you were bringing. But if you’re worried, we’ll find someone who doesn’t mind that.’