'Do you have to go tonight?' he pouted, lying on the bed in his dirty rugby gear. 'I thought you could scrub my back in the bath and then we could perhaps go out to your favourite restaurant?' He raked his blond locks off his forehead and I smiled indulgently at his bribery attempts.
'I promised I would go; besides, it will be good for Lizzie to get out,' I said, scraping my mascara wand around in the tube in a desperate attempt to try to prise some out.
He scowled. 'How long is she staying for? Surely it doesn't take this long to get over that Alastair? What does he do for a living again?'
'Computers.'
'Poofy profession.'
I sighed. 'Ben, just because he doesn't run around in the mud, put his head between other men's legs and then take a bath with them, doesn't mean he's a poof.'
'It does in my book.'
'Darling, come round tomorrow evening and I will scrub your back all night if you want.' I snapped my compact shut and sat on the bed with him.
'You look too gorgeous tonight to be wasted on a bunch of girls,' he said, putting his arms around me. I have to say I was pleased with the results myself. I had decided, after the hectic time I'd been having with Lizzie, the police station and the diary, to take my time getting ready this evening. I'd had a bath, shaved and plucked myself to within an inch of becoming a Christmas turkey, put on a face pack, which I'd worn until my face cracked, and even dried my hair properly. I was wearing a tailored grey skirt which split either side up to my thighs (Ben had bought me it for Christmas, although I suspect his mother
really
bought it as he never seems to recognise it), a little beaded lilac top and a pair of the finest earrings Butler and Wilson had to offer. I kept tugging down the lilac top until Lizzie pointed out it was supposed to be showing my midriff.
'Well, I have to say I'm not looking forward to tonight,' I sighed.
'See? Stay in with me then.'
'Even Teresa the Holy Cow is going to be there to make my evening complete.'
'Teresa the Holy Cow?'
'Yes, you know. You met her a few weeks ago. In the Square Bar.'
He fiddled with the corner of my duvet cover. 'Oh yes, I remember,' he said vaguely. He looked back up at me. 'Come round to my place tomorrow and then we can be by ourselves for a bit.'
'I can't leave Lizzie right now.'
'OK. I'll come round here tomorrow,' he said sulkily.
I dropped a kiss on the top of his head. 'Thank you.'
We say our greetings to Fleur, who is sitting resplendent on a bar stool in the middle of the group. No veils or L-plates for her; she is wearing a pair of pink hipsters that I might just have been able to get one tree trunk of a leg into, and a snazzy little top which shows off her slim, brown midriff. I desperately breathe in and hope comparisons are not made. She greets us with huge 'MOI's directed at either side of our faces and Lizzie, smiling tightly, thanks her for the indirect invite. Fleur then introduces us to the rest of the group. I remember the name of the first friend she introduces, who apparently is the bridesmaid. She is standing next to Fleur and is flicking her hair as though her life depends upon it. She is called Susie and gives me a thin-lipped smile while looking fixedly over my shoulder. I could have stabbed her and she would never have been able to pick me out of an identity parade, which may be worth bearing in mind for later. I promptly forget the names of everyone else and smile inanely throughout the rest of the intros.
'We have a float and a bar tab, so get yourselves a drink,' says Fleur. We duly hand over twenty quid each for the float and then turn our attention to the baffling array of cocktails.
'Don't let me drink too much this evening,' I whisper to Lizzie. 'I have a police raid in the morning.'
'Don't worry. I'll drink your share.'
We watch the barman make up two Long Island Iced Teas and, just as we lean against the bar with the aforementioned items in hand, we spot Teresa the Holy Cow planting a 'MOI' near Fleur's cheek. Lizzie turns back to the barman.
'We'll have two more of those, please.'
Teresa comes over to the bar under similar instructions to order a drink. 'Hello Teresa,' Lizzie and I dutifully mutter.
'Hello Holly, hello Lizzie. Fleur said you'd be here, Holly, but she didn't mention you'd be coming, Lizzie.' Damn, tripped up at the first hurdle.
'Funny. Holly didn't mention you'd be coming either,' Lizzie said, glaring at me.
'Didn't I?' I say weakly.
'So what
are
you doing here, Lizzie?' Teresa asks. Lizzie and I glance at each other and I start wildly fishing around in my brain for excuses. Lizzie is too quick for me.
'I'm looking after Holly in case she gets too drunk.'
I glare at Lizzie.
'I'm sure that doesn't happen
very
often,' says Teresa with a smirk.
'No Bible meetings tonight, Teresa?' I ask savagely.
'No, I left early. It's important to support a friend as she joins in the holy union of matrimony.'
'I'm sure the barman here is going to do just as good a job.'
She ignores the jibe, orders a white wine spritzer and then goes over to join the rest of the charity group.
I angrily suck up the remainder of my drink through my straw, recklessly abandon the glass and move on to my next one.
'Why didn't you tell me she was coming?' hisses Lizzie.
'Because then you wouldn't have come.'
'Too bloody right.'
We go upstairs to the restaurant to eat and I thankfully find myself sitting miles away from Teresa. I have a very earnest girl called Charlotte sitting on one side of me and Lizzie on the other. After Teresa insists that we all say grace, I turn to Charlotte and ask her, 'So what do you do at the charity?'
'I'm one of the counsellors there,' she says softly. She is a plain girl with straight dark blonde hair. She has the sort of manner that makes me want to lie on the floor and pour out all my troubles.
'Do you know James Sabine?' I ask.
'I wasn't his counsellor, Judith over there was.' She points across the table to a gentle-looking girl. 'But I saw him a couple of times in reception. You're the reporter who's doing the diary with him, aren't you?'
'Yes, I am.'
'I recognise you from the paper.'
I smile at this, not quite knowing what to say in response, and continue with my probing. 'Fleur's so nice, isn't she?' Please say something like 'Oh no, she's wanted for heinous crimes in four countries'.
'Yes, she's so lovely to everyone.' Damn.
'So, how long ago did James and Fleur meet?'
'About a year and a half.'
'Did they hit it off straightaway?'
'Well, I don't know about him, but Fleur talked of nothing else! Of course, he was devastated about his brother so it was a number of months before they started going out together.'
'Oh, right,' I say nonchalantly. It's quite hard to appear nonchalant when you're dying to say, 'Spill your guts! Tell me everything!'.
She continues, 'And now look where we all are! About to celebrate their wedding! A perfect happy ending. Wonderful!'
'Yes. Marvellous isn't it? Has Fleur worked at the charity long?'
'A couple of years. Just between you and me …' She drops her voice to a whisper (ahhh, heavenly words to a reporter's ears) '… I don't think Fleur really needs to work.'
'So why does she?'
'I think she enjoys helping people.' Bloody hell, the girl is all sugar and spice.
'I'm sure she does it just to help out,' I reply sweetly.
'I shouldn't be telling you all this, you being a reporter. It's probably the drink.'
I look longingly at my own empty glass, hail a passing waiter and order two more cocktails. 'Don't worry, I write about the police and James, not Fleur and James.'
For the next course, Fleur thinks it would be a good idea if we all move around the table one place so 'we can get to know each other better'. Alternate people get up to move and I sit down on the other side of Lizzie and find myself next to Susie, the best friend. I might have to revert to the stabbing idea. I smile warmly. 'Hi!'
She condescends to focus on me. I promise myself that after five minutes' effort I can spend the rest of the evening talking to Lizzie.
'So, you're the bridesmaid?' Well, it's a start. She flicks her hair and nods.
I try again. 'What's your dress like?'
At last! Some semblance of enthusiasm. 'It's a cross-bias cut with a mermaid train.'
'Sounds beautiful!' I say, without the slightest clue of what it might look like. 'Have you met the groom?'
She pulls a small face. 'He's very … bright, isn't he?'
I bet she has been on the wrong end of James Sabine's sarcastic tongue on a few occasions. I try not to smirk and concentrate instead on looking at my napkin.
'He's a policeman, isn't he?'
'A detective, actually.'
'Same thing.'
No, I think to myself, it's not the same thing at all but I decide to let it pass. She, unfortunately, doesn't.
She lowers her voice to a whisper. 'Not the best profession in the world, is it?'
Well, lovey, it's the only profession that stops me from reaching over for that butter knife and plunging it into your skinny, white thigh, I think to myself, but I concentrate on nodding instead. I could imagine what James would say (apart from 'well done') if I knifed his bridesmaid a week and a half before his wedding.
A few hours on, I am decidedly pissed. Lizzie and I have degenerated to speaking between ourselves and the last few weeks have made me forget what a good time we actually have together when we're out.
'Lizzie,' I hiss, 'you said you weren't going to let me drink.'
Lizzie tries to prise the glass out of my hand. 'S'too late now,' I say, hanging on to it for dear life.
She shrugs and gives up. 'What are you going to do tomorrow morning?'
'I'll be all right.'
'What time is James picking you up for this raid thing?'
'Half five.'
'Blimey!'
'It'll be fine. We just won't go to bed!' I clink my glass to hers and hoover down yet another Long Island Iced Tea. 'How are you feeling?' I ask sympathetically, 'Fine, fine.' Lizzie nods her head dementedly. I watch it anxiously to check it's not going to fall off. 'Sod Alastair!'
'Sod him!' I agree. Fleur!' I exclaim as she, swaying gently, crouches down beside us. 'How's the hen? Having a good time?'
'Great, are you two all right?'she asks.
'We couldn't be better!'
'You and James are working tomorrow, aren't you?'
'Shhhh,' I say clumsily, putting my finger to my lips. 'Don't tell him about this. He won't let me come.' I look around me; everything is a little blurry and I wonder if I might need to start wearing glasses. I make a mental note to book an optician's appointment.
"Where'sh Teresa?'
'She got a call on her mobile and went off. Obviously a red-hot lover!'
'Nahh. One of the choir boys hash drunk the altar wine.'
'We need to pep everyone up a bit. People are fading fast.' I briefly look around at the surrounding hen-sters. I have to agree the party has quietened down a tad.
'I know a game!' I say enthusiastically.
'Holly, what the hell is going on?' James says angrily.
I open one eye. I was just resting them for a minute, you understand. The light is a little bright. That's the problem with the NHS today. They insist on using those awful, glaring overhead strips. I'm going to instantly pen a terse note to the government on the very same subject just as soon as they let me out of here.
'James!' I say delightedly, with one eye squinting at him, 'what are you doing here? Have you hurt your toe too?'
'No, I haven't. I am here because Fleur called to tell me she may be a little late home because she had to take you to the hospital,' he says angrily. I take a better look at him; his short hair is tousled and his clothes obviously hastily dragged on. He doesn't seem too amused at having been pulled out of bed.
I frown gravely at this. 'You're not cross, are you?'
'I'm not cross.'
'You seem cross.'
'That's because I'm bloody
FURIOUS
!' Those green eyes practically pin me to my pillow with the force of their gaze. My hangover is starting to kick in and now I know what it feels like to be faced with an angry Godzilla. I wonder if the alcohol is having hallucinogenic effects on me and close my eyes again, fervently hoping he is just an apparition dreamed up by my over-fertile imagination. I coax an eye open after a second to check if he is still there. Unfortunately he is.
In a dramatic change of subject, I say, 'James, this is my best friend, Lizzie.' It's very hard to make the appropriate introductions when you're lying on a hospital stretcher. Not to mention managing to speak in whole sentences, complete with the appropriate nouns and verbs.
James relaxes minutely and shakes Lizzie's hand. He mutters, 'Hi, Lizzie, how are you?'
'Nice to meet you, James,' Lizzie says wearily – all in all it has been quite a night. 'I was just about to get some tea for us; would you like some?'
'That would be great.' Lizzie wanders off, intent on her mission, and James then turns his very unwelcome attention back to yours truly.
'You are aware that we are supposed to be involved in a raid in' – he consults his watch – 'approximately three hours' time?' His face swims in and out of focus. I blink hastily to try and clear the fog that is threatening to envelop my brain.
'Just let them get the bottle off and I'll be as right as rain and raring to go!'
'You're not coming!' he roars.
'Then why are you here?' I ask, frowning, clearly not understanding the obvious.
'Because my errant fiancée,' and he points to Fleur, who is lying across three chairs fast asleep, 'didn't tell me what was wrong with you on the telephone, she just hung up. For all I knew you could have been in a car accident.'
'Oh.' I hang my head in shame, deeply sorry it wasn't something more serious than a drinking game gone slightly askew.
'So what did happen?' he asks pointing at the wine bottle that is hanging off the end of one of my toes.