My Fake Wedding(49)

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Never mind.’

‘Oh.’ She looks momentarily confused then taps a passing waiter on the arm and bats her glitter-dusted eyelashes at him furiously. ‘I don’t suppose you’d like to get me a tiddly little canapé, would you?’ she asks him.

‘Yes, miss.’

‘Thank you.’ She smiles. Fluttering her lashes again. ‘It’s just that I’m terribly orally fixated at the moment. I really feel the need to put something in my mouth.’

‘How’s about my fist?’ Janice, hearing her, mutters into my ear. ‘That do you?’

But she doesn’t hear. Instead, she extends a fragile hand towards mine, smiles with her teeth, not her eyes, and says, ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Persephone. Pussy for short.’

‘Figures,’ Janice says quietly.

When Pussy turns to speak to someone else, Janice exhales.

‘Fucking hell. She’s a man-eating bitch if ever I saw one. She’d better not try getting her claws into Jasper.’

‘Don’t worry,’ I reassure her. ‘She hasn’t got a chance. No tits, for starters. Shit, she’s coming back.’

‘Those are quite nice.’ She points at my favourite palest pink strides.

‘Thanks,’ I say, chuffed, despite myself. ‘They’re Jigsaw.’

‘Thought so.’ She turns up her pretty little nose. ‘Last season, aren’t they?’

‘Cow,’ mutters Janice.

I try to rise above bitchy comments, saying instead, ‘So how do you fit in with all this? You a friend of Poppy’s?’

‘Cousin.’ She tosses her head. ‘Of sorts. Her mother’s my father’s cousin. That’s my father over there. Talking to her other sister.’

‘Which one?’ I ask politely.

‘Fat one,’ she says coolly, lighting a cigarette and pointing in the direction of a largish woman wearing a hippyish creation in flowing lilac. ‘Over there.’

‘Oh.’ I’m surprised at her frankness.

‘Yes. Never married, that one. Still, you can see why, can’t you?’

‘I think she looks nice,’ I say, hurt on the woman’s behalf. ‘She’s got a lovely face.’

‘Never goes anywhere without that little dog, poor cow,’ the girl says unkindly. ‘Oooh, look.’ She suddenly bursts into gales of tinkling laughter that reminds me of silver bells. I can’t help thinking what a pretty laugh she has for someone so transparently horrid. ‘What?’ I can’t help turning my head.

‘Will you look at that?’ She’s still pointing at the large woman. ‘It’s slobbered all over that dreadful skirt. She’s covered, look. She hasn’t even realised.’

‘Someone should tell her,’ I say, shocked at her outburst.

‘I’m sorry.’ She catches me staring at her and checks herself. ‘I don’t know whether I’m laughing so much at the dog drool or whether it’s because she had the audacity to actually wear that dreadful outfit in the first place.’

I finally manage to get away from Pussy and fetch myself another drink. Or three. By half past eleven, I realise I’m absolutely knackered. Time for bed. I have a lot to do tomorrow and I really don’t want to make a pig’s ear of the whole thing. I make my way up to my room and flop straight into bed without cleaning my teeth.

I’ve probably been asleep for about forty minutes when I’m woken by someone getting into bed beside me.

‘What the fuck?’

‘Shhhh,’ says a familiar voice. In the dark I can’t quite make out his face.

‘Sam?’

‘Yes?’

‘That you?’

‘Well of course it’s me.’ He laughs. ‘Who else would it be?’

‘Johnny Depp?’

‘Wishful thinking, Simpson,’ he says and I can hear by his voice that he’s grinning.

‘Jesus, Sam, you frightened the life out of me. What the hell are you doing here? And get your hand off my bum.’

‘Sorry.’ He moves away. ‘Didn’t realise.’

‘So?’

‘So what?’

‘Why are you here? You’re not supposed to be arriving till tomorrow.’

‘Bloody van broke down.’

‘What?’

‘Not the actual van. The fridge part. And I didn’t want the food to go off. So I drove down here tonight. I’ve been outside with Poppy’s dad filling bins with ice.’

‘Oh, Sam.’

‘What?’

‘You’re so sweet. Thank you.’

‘I am not sweet. I’m a rugged, red-blooded male, thank you very much. And you’re welcome.’