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My Fake Wedding(62)

By:Mina Ford


‘I suppose he told you I bonked him?’

‘No, actually. But he does seem pretty keen. Shit. Everyone at work’s going to be so jealous when I tell them.’

‘They can have him if they like. I’m done.’

‘But he’s gorgeous.’

‘You have him then.’

‘I wish.’ She laughs. ‘I’m afraid I’m spoken for, rather.’

‘You shagged him then? Jasper, I mean. No more treating yourself to nice bits of rough?’

‘Had to,’ she announces. ‘Honestly, Katie, you should have seen him. He was so grateful it was pathetic.’

‘Leave him then.’

‘Can’t,’ she says firmly. ‘I nicked a bank statement from the hall as I left this morning.’

‘You did what?’

‘A girl needs to know,’ she defends herself.

‘Did you open it?’

‘Oh yes. And it’s all fine. He’s wadded.’

‘God. Wish I was. My Switch was refused in Safeway last night when I was trying to buy a tin of macaroni cheese. I don’t even have sixty-eight pence. God only knows how I’m going to be able to afford to smoke fags and buy expensive toiletry items. Sam’s loan has pretty much run out.’

‘You think that’s bad,’ she says unsympathetically. ‘I’ve got another pitch coming up and I’m here till ten o’clock every night as it is. I’ll never get a wedding sorted out at this rate.’

‘You’re getting married?’ I gasp. Christ Almighty. She’s kept that quiet.

‘Of course. Why else do you think I’m boffing the silly old sod.’

‘Well, when’s the wedding?’

‘Oh, he doesn’t actually know about it yet,’ Janice says. ‘But he will. He has to. Check me out. I’m a catch.’

I’m impressed at her optimism. ‘And when he does ask, will you have the full works? The big meringue and the marquee and stuff?’

‘Will I fuck,’ she booms, almost perforating my eardrum. ‘God, if I start inviting loads of people along I’m going to have to ask my mother too, aren’t I?’

‘Oh Janice,’ I say. ‘She is your mother.’

‘Katie, she’d turn up in head-to-foot floral crimplene and smoke Raffles all night. She’d make a holy show of me. I can’t take the risk.’

‘But—’

‘But nothing. Sorry, Katie, but I can’t afford to have her showing me up, complaining that the gazpacho is cold and asking where the “toilet” is in a loud voice. Anyway. Face it. The poor cow just hasn’t got the wardrobe so she’ll have to stay at home. Nope. When we get married it’ll be on some beach somewhere hot. Bastard hot. And I’ll be wearing a white bikini and pink flowers in my hair. No guests.’

‘Oh.’

‘Well, you can come, I suppose,’ she adds generously. ‘Seeing as you’re my best mate.’

‘Thanks.’ I feel better.

‘As long as you can afford it, of course. Flights to Hawaii don’t come cheap.’

‘Oh.’

‘At least I won’t have to worry about you showing me up.’

‘That’s good.’

‘I mean, I won’t have to worry about you having better hair than me or anything, for a start.’

Good old Janice. She always knows how to make me feel better.

‘And you don’t have a hope in hell of getting a better tan than me, either.’

‘Mmm.’

‘Your legs will still be like two milk bottles when we get back.’

‘Thanks,’ I say miserably.’ Oh, cheer up, Katie,’ she says irritably. ‘Whatever’s the matter? You should be happy for me. I think you’re being a bit selfish.’

‘I told you. I’m skint. And that’s not a “can’t afford to buy that Jigsaw white dress” kind of skint. It’s the “can I afford that Tesco’s white sliced?” sort.’ Suddenly, the fizz has gone out of my great success at Poppy’s wedding and reality has started to kick in. What if I can’t afford to start up a business at all? What if this christening I’m catering for all goes to the wall and I’ve wasted a fortune on enough sugar to ice the Millennium Dome?

‘Well,’ she says importantly, ‘I just might have something that’ll cheer you up.’

‘What?’ Frankly I doubt that anything she can say is going to make me feel any better. Janice’s efforts at cheering me up usually involve spending lots of time in hideously expensive shops, followed by a long sesh in a bar where the drinks are six quid a throw. And the chances of the bank seeing its way clear to financing that one are slimmer than Ally McBeal, so it looks as though I’ll have to wallow in poverty for a bit longer yet.