My Fake Wedding(105)

‘Fuck,’ we both say at the same time.

Hearing us, Jasper swings round.

‘Darling,’ he says to Janice. ‘I didn’t hear…’

‘Clearly,’ she says coldly, grabbing my hand and pulling me back downstairs.

‘Are you OK?’ I ask her as we get outside.

‘Yes,’ she says slowly. She’s as white as a sheet. ‘Although I think I’m going to throw up.’

I hand her a tissue as she chucks all over my shoes.

‘Try not to worry,’ I say comfortingly. ‘I mean you did only want him for his cash, didn’t you?’

‘Well, yes,’ she says. ‘Of course. Although I am a bit shocked. I didn’t think the stupid old buffer had it in him.’

Something’s wrong. She’s strangely calm.

So why is she being sick? She’s not even that upset.

‘Bang goes my country house in Winchester then,’ she says bitterly. ‘And you know, Katie, I’ve given him five blow jobs. It wasn’t exactly fun.’

‘I’m sure,’ I soothe.

‘I even swallowed twice,’ she says. ‘Think how bloody daft I feel now.’

I tell her that I know she feels daft. But at least she’s not crying. I was worried she might start volleying off bucketfuls of tears. I thought there might be snot everywhere. But no, it’s only money. It clearly isn’t that bad.

‘Actually, Katie,’ she looks me straight in the eye, ‘it is that bad.’

‘Why?’ I ask her. ‘You aren’t in debt, are you?’

‘No.’

‘What then?’

Something about the way she’s looking at me gives me a very bad feeling about this.

A very bad feeling indeed.

‘Well, I was so fed up of waiting for him to pop the question I tried a new tactic,’ she says, her bottom lip wobbling just ever so slightly.

‘Oh.’

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I plumped for Plan B. And plump is about bloody right.’

‘Oh, come on, Janice, you aren’t fat. Would I have asked you to be my bridesmaid if you were a great tub of lard?’

‘I don’t mean now.’ She looks at me derisively. ‘I mean in a few months’ time. Six months to be exact. In six months, I’ll be the size of a house.’

‘What?’

‘I’m up the stick. Got a mouse in the chimney. A bun in the oven. I’m up the bloody duff.’

‘But how?’

‘Shagging.’ She looks at me seriously. ‘That’s how. Oh fuck, Katie. What am I going to do?’

‘Have a baby?’ I say weakly.

‘Well, it’s a bit late for anything else now,’ she says. ‘Talk about history bloody repeating itself. I’m my bloody mother all over again. The poor, poor cow.’

‘But you’ve got a good job,’ I tell her.

‘Which I hate.’

‘You’ll be able to afford to look after it at least,’ I say. ‘You’ll be a great mother. Just make sure you don’t sell it to George.’

She manages a weak smile. ‘You think I should chuck in my job and go on the social?’ she says. ‘Isn’t that what single mothers do?’

‘You could get a nanny.’

‘Oh God.’ She ignores me. ‘Me. A single mother. Of course I’ll have to get the poor little sod’s ears pierced, even if it’s a boy. And I’ll have to wear cheap and nasty shoes and paint purple blotches on my legs so the other single mums won’t think I’m up myself.’

‘Try to cheer up.’ I can’t think of much else to say. ‘The labour won’t hurt much.’

‘Katie, it’s supposed to be like shitting a melon through the eye of a needle.’

‘Don’t worry, Jasper’s will probably get a chauffeur to drive it out. It’ll probably already have cruise control and everything. It’ll come out at eighty miles an hour with a cigar the size of a dog poo in its gob. You probably won’t even have to push.’

Janice manages another small smile. ‘God, he was a twat, wasn’t he?’ She giggles. ‘So totally nouve.’

‘Completely.’ I laugh, walking towards the Jeep and putting my hand on the door. ‘You still got the keys?’

Janice feels in her pockets. ‘Yep.’

‘C’mon then,’ I say. ‘Might as well have it. Call it child support.’

‘It’s about the only support I’ll be getting from him.’

‘You aren’t going to tell him, then?’

‘No way. You saw him, Katie. I don’t want the baby to end up with a father like that.’

‘How will you sting him for cash then?’