My Fake Wedding(27)

As I content myself in my kitchen, I suddenly realise I feel more relaxed than I have done for weeks. I’m upset about Jake. And that business with David. And losing my job, come to that. But it doesn’t take much to realise that I’m definitely happiest when I’m cooking for other people. Perhaps I should look into actually using my qualifications instead of just having them.

While I cook, George fills the sitting room with fondant-pink peonies in chunky glass vases and covers the mantelpieces in every room with fat, waxy church candles. He hangs strings of tiny pink fairylights everywhere so they’ll twinkle magically in the dusk. By the time we’ve both finished, the flat is party perfect.

‘And now for the pièce de résistance.’ George, grinning his head off, produces a large, flat box with a flourish.

‘Open it then.’

I do. Inside, nestling among layers of tissue paper, is the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen. The skirt is palest pink and gauzy, the bodice shocking pink, threaded with gold. It must have cost him the best part of five hundred quid.

But then he can afford it.

‘It’s gorgeous.’ I hug him.

‘Go and put it on then.’ He hugs me back. ‘I’ve got to put my slap on too.’

‘Your slap?’

‘Oh yes.’ He nods. ‘I’m coming in full drag.’



At seven o’clock, Janice’s brand new plum-coloured Beetle mounts the kerb and she trips up to the door in a pair of four-inch stack heels and a crotch-skimming halter-necked frock that squashes her boobs together spectacularly.

‘Happy birthday, my lovely.’ She gives me a huge hug and hands over a bunch of my favourite marshmallow pink tulips and a bag filled with sweets and tiny presents wrapped in iridescent, rainbow-coloured paper. ‘And fear not. I’ve invited a delicious selection of G ’n’ Ts for you.’

‘Ooh, goodie.’ I smile. ‘You look lovely, by the way.’

‘So do you,’ she says automatically, before realising I’m still in my Frank Bruno bathrobe. ‘For a boxer,’ she adds and we both collapse in giggles.

At seven thirty, Sam’s convertible something or other pulls up outside and he waltzes in, putting down a huge box full of clinking bottles and giving me a whopping great kiss on the cheek.

‘Happy birthday, old thing.’

‘Not so much of the old, thanks.’

As all my friends greet each other, champagne corks pop and Janice, pouring me a glass full of bubbles, shoos me off to my room to put on the pink dress. I down my first drink in one, my stomach churning with a mixture of party excitement and secret misery at the thought of Jake and Fishpants and their bun, cooking happily away in her oven.

‘So what’s this man of yours like?’ I ask Janice. ‘Am I going to like him or am I going to wonder if you’ve had a taste lobotomy when I see him? Come on. Spill the beans. I’ve only got a name to go on. And judging by that, he sounds like a frigging labrador.’

‘Let’s just say he’ll do nicely.’

‘You make him sound like an American Express card.’

‘Exactly.’ She grins. ‘And I’m banking on Voyage membership and an expense account at Harvey Nicks before the month’s out. Now pucker up. You’re going to look gorgeous when I’m done. Men will be falling over themselves to shag you.’

‘As long as a shag’s all they’re after,’ I joke. ‘I’d rather stick broken bottles up my bum than go out with any of the men we know. And just between you and me, I feel, well…’

‘What?’

‘I feel a bit, you know, weird.’

‘Why?’

‘I saw Jake today.’

‘Oh God. Oh hon. Are you OK?’

‘Yup.’ I swallow.

‘Was he…’

‘With her? Oh yes. She’s only up the duff, isn’t she?’

‘Noooooooooooo way!’

‘Way. About to have it, by the look of things. I’m really pissed off, to be honest.’

‘I know,’ she soothes, dusting glitter over my eyelids. ‘You’ll feel a lot better once you’ve shagged someone else. Honest.’

She gives me a comforting hug and gets back to work on my face. By the time I get downstairs, the party is in full swing. Sam’s on bar duty. He’s set up a table in the corner and is pouring everyone decadent cocktails.

‘Wow,’ he says when he sees me in my new dress.

‘Don’t be a disgusting letch,’ I admonish him. ‘And give me a margarita. I love margaritas.’

‘Oooh, so do I,’ says a tapeworm in a see-through white dress. ‘I’ll have one of those too. My name’s Kimberley, by the way,’ she adds shyly, batting enormous eyelashes at Sam.