I decide to wait until I can get hold of Sam before I tell Janice I’m going to marry David. She can’t be bothered to listen to me anyway and after what she’s just said, I don’t really see why she should get to know first, even if Sam is being totally infuriating at the moment. So I call Sam and arrange for us both to go over to his later on. And George and David promise to meet me there so they can explain if I get it all wrong.
Sam opens the door straightaway. And any worries I had over the possibility of any nasty vibes hanging around vanish like a puff of smoke. He’s grinning from ear to ear like a Cheshire cat.
‘You’ve had your hair cut,’ I say as he hugs me. I take in his newly shorn self. His floppy fringe has disappeared and his head, when I stroke it, feels all soft and fuzzy. ‘I like it.’
‘You do?’ He looks pleased.
‘Yep.’ I grin. I should’ve known Sam wouldn’t let some silly disagreement over my living arrangements spoil our friendship. ‘It’s lovely to see you.’
‘You too, Simpson.’ He smiles. ‘You look the same as ever.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning it’s good to see you still don’t bother running a brush through that hair.’
‘Ha ha.’
Inside, Sam’s flat, with its newly snow-white painted walls, its swathes of film mags stacked everywhere and the goldfish orange, egg-yolk yellow and Matisse blue splotches he refers to as ‘art’ all over the walls is looking great.
‘I like it,’ I tell him. ‘You’ve made it look really good.’
‘Of course it’s mainly down to me,’ a voice filters into the room and Janice and I look up to see Pussy, stick-thin in a tiny black vest, a weeny scarlet and white skirt and a pair of sexy black mules, emerge from the kitchen.
‘God,’ hisses Janice. ‘It’s that orally fixated slapper from the wedding.’
‘We chose the colours together, didn’t we?’ She gazes up at Sam.
Sam looks momentarily embarrassed at being discovered wallowing in domestic togetherness. And so he should. The two of them have only been seeing each other a matter of weeks.
‘Er…’
‘Have you moved in then?’ Janice probes.
‘Well—’
‘She’s just helping me decorate,’ Sam says quickly. ‘She chose the blue wall over there.’
Pussy looks pissy for a second then, pulling herself together, snipes, ‘That’s an unusual outfit, Kylie.’
‘Katie,’ I say.
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ She looks not at all sorry. ‘Of course. You were the caterer at my cousin’s wedding. You know, you need some jewellery with that top. To draw the eye away from the dodgy waistline.’
I wait until George and David have arrived, bursting through Sam’s front door in a blur of Habitat catalogues and Heals carriers, before I tell Sam and Janice my news.
‘We’re here,’ they chorus.
‘God, sweetie, don’t look so worried.’ George, about six foot four in his Cuban-heeled boots, practically rips his white PVC trousers as he bends down to air kiss my cheeks. ‘You look knackered, doesn’t she, David?’
‘Well…’
‘Oh, come off it, darling, her eyebags are rouched.’ George starts stabbing numbers excitedly into his mobile phone. ‘’Scuse I, darling. Just got to ring Aria to order some new bedlinen for your room.’
‘Her room?’ Sam asks suspiciously.
‘Never mind that.’ I wave him away and throw George a meaningful look.
‘Sorry, darling.’ George throws his hand to his mouth. ‘You haven’t told them then?’
‘Told us what?’
‘Yes,’ Pussy purrs. ‘Told us what?’
‘Nothing,’ I say.
‘Jesus Christ.’ George bangs his phone on the table in exasperation and looks straight at Pussy. ‘That bloody network goes down more often than you do, love.’
‘George…’ Sam warns, as Pussy turns her pretty little nose up. I don’t know why he’s bothering. I’m not even sure she’s understood.
When George has calmed down, I eventually manage to break the news of my forthcoming nuptials to the others. When I’m done, there’s a hideous silence, followed by a sharp intake of breath from Janice and Sam as their jaws crash to the floor. I suppose I can’t exactly blame them for being so shocked. After all, it’s not every day a girl who’s more single than a one-way bus ticket decides to get spliced on a whim, even if the reasoning behind it isn’t exactly fairytale stuff. Of course, I don’t tell them the full story. Not at first, anyway. I don’t let slip exactly who it is I’m marrying until I’ve let them stew a bit. As it is, the only person who looks remotely pleased for me is the odious Pussy. And that’s probably only because she’s relieved because she thinks it means I won’t be hanging around Sam like a rat round a rubbish bin. She looks the type to be jealous of platonic friends.